


Village of Voices

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode: s01e11 Scarecrow, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guided across the country and back east by their father’s calls, Dean and Sam stop to investigate a local legend outside Pomfret, Connecticut. A legend that turns out to be far too real when Dean vanishes leaving Sam to discover the secret of the lost settlement of Bara-Hack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi-chapter story I ever wrote in the Supernatural fandom and to be honest 7 years ago my writing wasn't as good as it is now (hope that doesn't sound weird or uppity).
> 
> I'd like to thank any readers for their patience as I did some massive re-editing to this one. It is now complete as of August 26, 2012. Now I am off to start the new edits on the sequel "More Terrible than Death". Thanks, again! = D

_Here had been their houses, represented today by a few gaping cellar holes out of which tall trees were growing; but here is the Village of Voices._

_For the place is peopled still…._

_‘The Harvest of a Quiet Eye’_

Observations on Bara-Hack

~Naturalist Odell Shepard, Published in 1927

 

 

For four days straight, they’d been driving cross-country only to stop for food, gas, or switch places behind the wheel. Neither of them complained about the lack of stopping because to be frank they couldn’t put enough space between themselves and Burkittsville, Indiana. Sure, they’d destroyed the Norse god if that’s what you’d call it, but both were still haunted by how close they’d been to losing each other.

So, that’s how they found themselves at a convenience store just off the intersection of Routes 97 and 44 outside Pomfret, Connecticut. Their dad had called once since they left Burkittsville behind them, but he’d only told them he was well and he was proud of their work in Indiana. They both had given each other a look that spoke volumes. It always seemed their dad knew things he couldn’t possibly know even when they’d been younger. Dean was beginning to think Sam had inherited his sixth sense from their dad.

As Sam filled the car, Dean wandered into the convenience store contemplating if he dared get lunch here or if they should find a restaurant somewhere. If it was up to him junk food would be fine, but Sam liked to set down and have a meal, not that you’d know as skinny as the brat was, Dean thought with amusement. Grabbing a couple of cokes, a bag of chips, and a couple of chocolate bars he went for the counter and as he waited in line, impatient to be back on the road, his gaze wandered over magazines and other last minute items that cluttered the front counter.

His gaze finally settled on a small plastic holder filled with pamphlets. Raising one brow, he shifted the items he’d collected and reached out taking one of the glossy pamphlets.

A brightly lit photo of a meandering (God Sam’s fancy education was rubbing off on him.) forest path covered the top portion of the cover and beneath it in bold letters was the title The Lost Settlement of Bara-Hack. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he stepped forward, the last customer gone, and dropped his load on the counter. The middle-aged man behind the counter began ringing the items his gaze never leaving Dean’s face.

"You interested?"

Dean glanced up from the pamphlet with a frown, "In what?"

"Seeing the settlement." he inclined his head toward the pamphlet as he rang in Dean’s items, "Gas?"

"Yeah, pump three." Dean frowned deeper. "I thought it was lost."

"Yep, it is, lost out in the middle of the woods out by Mashomoquet Brook. Ain't anyone lived out there since around 1890. Whole damn village just up and packed its bags after the factory closed down just after the Civil War. Guess the farmers and such found greener pastures. Not that I blame folks for avoiding the place; those woods been haunted long as anyone can remember." He hit a final button and cleared his throat. "That’ll be $46.79, son."

Dean tucked the pamphlet in his jacket pocket and dug out three twenties he’d won at a poker game somewhere in Ohio. "So…" he drawled out as he handed the man the money, "…haunted? You don’t really believe in all that stuff do you?" He flashed the man his best shit eating grin.

"Well I’ll tell you this, son. Ain’t no man in his right mind would be caught out in those woods after the sun goes down. Sure them know it all college folks say they exorcised the land back in ‘72--or was it ’73? Course we all know better. Still hear those voices out there and see them lights flickering through the trees late at night."

"Thanks," Dean squinted at the man’s nametag, "…Deacon. I think my brother and I just might go down take a look around." He grabbed the plastic bag of junk food and his change from the counter, heading for the door.

"You mark my words, boy. Don’t get yourselves caught down in the woods after dark."

"Sure thing Deacon." Dean snapped the older man a salute and flashed him a grin as he pushed through the door, heading back towards the car.

Back in the store, Deacon shook his snow-white head and snorted. "Damn fool kids never learn. Some things you just don’t fuck with."

 

***

 

"You’re kidding right? Wasn’t leather-face the scarecrow enough for you?" Sam rolled his eyes as he flipped through the pamphlet.

"Shit…where’s your spirit, Sammy? This could be fun." Dean tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel as turned north on Route 97.

"Fun—did you say fun?" Sam’s eyes grew wide as he glanced over at Dean. He had to admit that this was the first time Dean had shown this much enthusiasm since before Burkittsville. Hell, he’d barely spoken most of the trip east. "Look, Dean…we don’t know shit about this place and from what they say in the pamphlet the land isn’t inhabited for miles around. Don’t you think that screams weird?"

Dean glanced from the corner of his eye and snorted. "Well…duh! Of course, it’s weird. Why the hell else would I want to go there? That’s what we do."

"No…" Sam drawled out. "What we do is help people in trouble--supernatural trouble. No people, no trouble, no go."

"Aw…come on Sammy. Don’t you just ever want to do something for the fun of it?" Dean’s lower lip pushed out in a pout.

"Fun is having a couple of beers, playing some pool, going to the movies…not hunting spooks. Hunting spooks is what we have to do. Fun isn’t something you have to do." Sam took one look at the twinkle in Dean’s eyes, the thrumming fingers on the steering wheel, and knew it was useless. "I’m not winning this argument--am I?"

"Nope," Dean chuckled as the car speed past a sign.

 

ABINGTON FOUR CORNERS 3 MILES

 

***

 

Four corners were about all there was to Abington Four Corners. It seemed like most hole in the wall towns-- general store, café, hardware store, police station, and the local garage. Dean was glad it wasn’t pristine white perfection like Burkittsville had been. The thought of that surreal village sent a shudder down his spine as he pulled into a parking spot. As he and Sam got out of the car, a dark blue police car cruised by marked with a town seal and the words Abington Four Corners Sheriff. The man behind the wheel didn’t give them a second glance and Dean counted his blessings. A second glance probably would have had him grabbing Sam, throwing him in the car, and heading for the hills at a far too high speed.

"Let’s go get something to eat, Dean."

"What?" Dean peered at Sam from above the rim of his sunglasses.

"Food…you do remember food right?"

"Yeah, food sounds good." Dean moved around the car and joined Sam.

Crossing the street, they headed for a section of building where a white sign hung out that read ‘Bara-Hack Café’. There seemed a number of odd names in this part of the country. As they headed up the sidewalk, Dean sighed and gave a sidelong glance to his brother.

"What?"

"What do you suppose Bara-Hack means?"

Without pause Sam answered, "Means breaking of bread in Welsh."

Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Now why doesn’t it surprise me you know that?"

***

The Bara-Hack Café was as far removed from the café in Burkittsville as it was from LA or New York.

The upper half of the walls were painted an off white and trimmed with delicately painted green ivy leaves that bordered the ceiling. Green shaded light fixtures dangled above wooden booths and the counter that stretched across the back of the café. Stools, upholstered in fake green leather, lined the counter where a few working class men sat, their backs to the front door.

Sam headed for a booth that looked out on the main street, and then stopped to glance back and discover Dean studying the framed photos that lined the walls. "Dean?"

Turning Dean grinned. "You should see these photos--damn."

"Why?" Sam raised a questioning brow before heading to where Dean stood, "What could be so interesting it could possibly draw you away from food."

"Spirit lights," Dean pointed to one particular photo of what appeared to be an old cemetery set in the middle of the woods. Tiny pinpricks of light seemed to bob above the rough stone markers, an eerie cold blue light. "These were taken out at the cemetery at Bara-Hack. Look at the tag."

Sam squinted at the tiny engraved tag on the frame. "Bara-Hack Cemetery October 15, 1972."

"Those are what the old folks call cannwyll gorff or--"

Turning Sam met a pair of green eyes set in a tanned face. "Corpse candles." he finished the young woman’s sentence.

The young woman smiled wide. "I don’t run into many tourists that know Welsh so you’ll have to excuse my surprise." She brushed an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear, and then held out her hand. "Welcome to Abington Four Corners. By the way, I'm Bronwen Ingley. All my friends call me Wen though. If you guys are looking for a good meal, then you’re in the right place. Come on up to the counter Thom and Charlie are getting ready to go back to work anyway--aren’t you boys?"

Thom and Charlie, who could be nothing but father and son, grumbled something about pushy broads slipped from their stools and headed for the register. Bronwen stepped around the counter and disposed of the empty plates and glasses, then wiped down the counter as Sam and Dean took seats.

Turning around so he faced Bronwen, Sam smiled. "My name’s Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean." Dean glared at him from the corner of his eye and Sam knew he’d be in for it later for giving their real names.

"So you two guys passing through or you here for awhile?" She poured two glasses of water and sat them down in front of the brothers along with two menus. "If you're staying old Sali runs a fine bed and breakfast down a couple miles on Walnut Street."

Dean leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed Bronwen his patented sexy grin, his eyes sparkling. "No we’re just passing through. If it was up to Sammy here we’d never have any fun." He elbowed Sam in the ribs causing him to grunt. "I heard about the lost settlement and thought it’d be fun to take a look."

Brows rising, Bronwen leaned across the counter and smiled a knowing smile. She damn well knew a flirt when she saw one. "I wouldn’t say that too damn loud when the older folks are around. They don’t much like that place and they weren’t too happy when my parent’s decided to name the café here after it."

"Why not?" Sam asked eyes curious.

"Sometimes you know the old legends and shit don’t die. Most of these folks, me included, can trace their roots all the way back to the first Welsh settlers in this area. Generations of them have farmed the land and not cared much for outsiders. That's probably why they got their panties in a bunch back in the Seventies when those college folks came up here to investigate Bara-Hack. Their investigation brought to much attention to the area."

"So, you were saying those photos were corpse candles?" Dean questioned. "What the hell are corpse candles?"

Bronwen chuckled softly. "An old Welsh superstition is all. Suppose it depends, who you’re talking to what the answer is. My great granny used to say it was the souls of the dead waiting to collect the souls of the living. She used to say ‘Beware when the cannwyll gorff come a calling. It’s then that your number is up.’ Of course I never really believed her." She snorted. "So what can I get you guys to eat?"

Giving the menu a quick once-over, Dean glanced up. "Double cheeseburger platter with fries and a beer--that is if you serve beer."

"Beer we most definitely have." She flashed him a smug grin, "So what about you Sam?"

"The turkey club sounds good. Unlike my brother I’d like to reach forty without having a heart attack."

"Hey!" Dean growled. "I’ll have you know real men eat red meat."

"They also have clogged arteries." Sam smirked just as the menu hit him upside his head.

 

***

 

After a casual meal at the café and a few more questions aimed at Bronwen, who turned out to be a very funny personable young woman, Dean and Sam headed back to Route 97. She’d told them there was a side road, the only one for miles, and that it would turn to the left, leading them down to Mashomoquet Brook.

"There it is." Sam pointed to the left where the barbed wire fence they’d been following for five or six miles broke open to reveal a dirt road.

Turning into the road, Dean groaned. "This damn road is going to tear up my car."

"Dean, don’t complain this was your idea." Sam snapped as they headed up the road, car rattling so hard he swore he could feel every little pebble.

Cresting the hill the road wound down into the thick woods and ended near a stream that disappeared into the lengthening shadows. Dean brought the car to a stop at the dead end and cut the engine leaving them surrounded by silence. Slowly Sam pushed open the passenger-side door, and stepped out, dead leaves crackling beneath his boots like shattering glass. The silence was almost deafening and suddenly Sam knew that he didn’t want to go any further into the woods.

"Quiet."

He jumped like a scared rabbit at the sound of Dean’s voice. "Too damn quiet." He hissed.

"You’re just used to the city--of course it’s quiet." Dean snorted as he went around to the trunk of the car.

"It isn’t that, Dean. Use your brain for once. Listen--there’s nothing. There should be birds or even the wind in the trees. I don’t like this." Slowly he circled the car his gaze moving over the ground and into the treetops. He didn’t even see a single bird, he thought, and shouldn’t there be rabbits or small animal noises. "Look Dean lets go back to town."

Pulling out his shotgun and backpack, Dean turned back to Sam. "Come on Sammy…even if there is something out here it’s not like we can’t handle it. We’re hunters for Christ sake." Throwing the backpack over his shoulder Dean headed for the overgrown path that led from the stream into the woods. As he stepped onto the path, he yelled over his shoulder. "Are you coming or what?"

With a groan, Sam grabbed his own backpack and another shotgun, slamming the truck shut. "I’m coming!" He yelled, jogging across the clearing and following Dean into the quickly growing shadows. He had no doubt that he was going to regret this, but he’d abandoned Dean in Burkittsville and he’d almost lost him. He wasn’t about to do that again.

***

 

As they made their way down the path, the shadows continued to thicken, and Sam got the distinct impression that unseen eyes were watching them. His arms were covered with goose flesh and the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end the closer they got to where Bronwen had said was the edge of the settlement. Something wasn’t right and the last time he’d ignored the warnings he’d lost Jessica.

"Dean, don’t you feel it?" He whispered his voice unnaturally loud in the deafening silence.

Dean stopped turning back to frown at Sam. "What is it, Sammy? You’re as pale as a ghost."

Moving closer he leaned in. "There’s something here. Something is watching us and I don’t think its rabbits. Come on let’s go back…now."

"Look if you’re right, Sam, then we can’t walk away from it. This is what we do--what we are." Dean shifted his backpack and started back up the path.

"Shit…" Sam hissed beneath his breath as he headed after Dean. As he picked up speed, he could have sworn he heard the soft laughter of children echoing in his ears.

 

***

 

How long they’d walked, Dean had no idea when suddenly the trees parted and the lost settlement of Bara-Hack was found--at least what remained of it. The cow path they’d been following had apparently been the main road through the center of the town at one time. The occasional foundation of stone was visible through the forest debris as they wandered through overgrown dried grass and leaves. If the silence had been deafening before now, it was like a vacuum here tearing at Dean’s eardrums as if it were a noise so loud that they would burst.

Cautiously he moved down the path, Sam watching his back, the early spring sunlight winking through the dead leaves that clung to the twisted trees. He cursed beneath his breath knowing that Sam had been right and he’d been a fool to lead them to this haunted place. The land was haunted, he thought. It had been haunted before the Welsh settlers had arrived.

"You can feel it now--can’t you?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah…I can." Dean jerked around sure he’d seen some movement to his left, but there was nothing. "Did you see that?" He choked out from between suddenly too dry lips.

"You mean the children? At least that’s what I think they are." Sucking in a deep breath of cold air Sam licked his lips. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah," Dean glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye. "Its ozone…like before a storm. What the hell are we dealing with here—a Ley line?"

Sam frowned, spinning around as he caught a glimpse of a pale diaphanous form. "Ley line is possible, but I just don’t know. It’s like the air is charged with electricity. Dean let’s get the hell out of here."

"No, not yet." he glanced up the path. "The cemetery should be up that way."

Sam’s eyes widened. "Are you crazy? We have no idea what this place is. We could be walking into something we can’t handle."

Glancing over his shoulder Dean flashed Sam a cocky grin. "Since when have we been not able to handle it?" Then he started up the slight incline.

Rolling his eyes Sam trotted after Dean for what seemed like the six millionth time in the past few minutes. He felt like hitting Dean in his thick skull and dragging him back to the car. He had a bad feeling about this and he couldn’t shake it no matter how hard he tried.

 

***

 

The Bara-Hack cemetery was a small area compared to some cemeteries Dean had seen. It was a perfect square of earth with a scattering of saplings surrounded by a crumbling wall of stones. Most of the gravestones were tilted at odd angles, but whole and weather worn. A few among them were broken or cracked with moss creeping across their dark surfaces. He stood at what had once been the front gate, scattered pieces of rotted wood telling him the community hadn’t been one of a great amount of wealth. If they had been, there would have been a cast iron gate.

"Dean?"

He turned to face Sam, "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Sam stepped closer studying his brother with narrowed eyes. "You look a bit out of it."

"Naw…I’m okay." Dean turned back to the cemetery, a curious look in his eyes.

Sam stepped around Dean grabbing his shoulders. "Dean, talk to me."

"This seems so familiar." Dean whispered as his eyes glazed over. "It’s like I’ve been here before, but I know dad and I have never been here."

A sudden sharp pain caused a knot to form in Sam’s gut. "Come on...let’s get the fuck out of here. There’s something not right about this entire thing."

Dean ignored Sam’s plea and shrugged him off stepping through the gateway. Turning Sam watched as his brother moved into the cemetery, and suddenly he felt like his whole world was crumbling again. He hadn’t felt this way since the night Jess had been murdered. The same feeling of helplessness began to overwhelm him that he’d felt in that precise moment he’d seen the flames consume her. Swallowing hard, he forced it all down into the pit of his stomach knowing he couldn’t let Dean stay here. He knew they were both in trouble, but Dean was the one he wanted.

Suddenly he realized what he’d thought. He’d called it--he.

Looking up he saw Dean at the back of the cemetery kneeling in front of a tombstone. His chest felt like it was being squeezed tight in a vice. He ran into the cemetery body feeling as if it were moving through molasses. Time itself seemed to slow as he saw Dean reach out to brush a century’s worth of debris from the cold stone face of the marker. A marker, that if he was right, was not inside the cemetery, but just outside the wall.

Inside his head he could hear voices whispering--men, women, and children all. One word whispered over and over to echo against the walls of his skull--the fluttering of a trapped bird’s wings. Ahead of him, he saw the flicker of pale blue fire hovering over the stone in the dying light of day.

Cannwyll gorff.

Corpse candles.

The blue light expanded, engulfed the gravestone and as Dean’s fingers made contact with the cold grey stone it shot up his arm--engulfing him as well. He was only a few short feet from where Dean knelt and still he couldn’t get there. His mouth opened as he tried to speak yet his vocal cords seemed frozen along with the blood in his veins.

There was a blinding flash of cold, blue light and Sam threw his arm across his eyes. At the same time, freezing cold wind roared through the cemetery knocking him off his feet. Stumbling back, he fell head connecting with one of the stones long ago shattered, splitting the skin and sending him tumbling through a grey sea of pain. With his last bit of strength, Sam screamed as loud as he could.

"Dean!”

As sudden as the light and wind had appeared, it vanished, an overwhelming silence that left an echo of fear in Sam’s ears. Pushing himself up off the ground vision swimming Sam tried to focus on the spot where Dean had been--he was gone. Dean had vanished as if he’d never been there. Forcing himself to his feet he stumbled to the gravestone, hands shaking as he collapsed on the concave length of earth where the grave had sank. As he slipped into unconsciousness, Sam heard laughter and the voice of a small child whisper one word.

_Sinner_


	2. Chapter 2

"Who do ye suppose he is, Father?"

"I wouldn’t know, but his garments are quite strange. I’ve never seen such fastenings."

Dean groaned, his head throbbing as he tried to focus on the two male voices coming from above him. Trying to open his eyes, he flinched at an overly bright light too close to his face. Fire, he thought, finding the strength to push himself up and back.

"Shit!" He yelped feeling the rough ground beneath his palms, the gravel grinding into his skin as he skittered back. A sharp pain exploded behind his eyes and his stomach lurched. Great, he thought, I’m going to be sick.

"Now, son, calm down you’re among friends."

A large hand patted him on his back as he began gagging, his lunch deciding it would happier on the cold hard ground. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth Dean glanced up his vision blurred with the moisture his heaving had forced from his bloodshot eyes. "Who the hell are you?" He grated out.

"Well son, me name is James Ingley and this is..." the elder man turned, "me son Tristan." He frowned as he swung the lantern back in Dean’s direction causing Dean’s head to swim again. "Ye do not look well. Let’s get ye out of the cold and indoors," he glanced to the night sky, "…I suspect we shall have snow tonight. Tis’ a blessing we found ye before the storm came."

The younger man held out a work-roughened hand to Dean and smiled. "Come now."

Taking the man’s hand Dean looked into a bright pair of green eyes and thought for a moment he’d seen those eyes before, but he couldn’t quite place them. "I guess I owe you thanks that would be the right thing to do. At least that’s what Sam would say." He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and his legs wobbled for a moment before he managed to get them to still.

"So ye know our names--what may I ask is yours?" Tristan smiled, his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lantern.

Dean opened his mouth to answer and then his eyes widened in confusion. "I…I honestly don’t know. Shit why can’t I remember who I am?" And who the hell was Sam, he wondered?

***

 

When Sam woke, he was lying on the rocky shoulder of Route 97, his head throbbing in pain, and his vision blurring. Concussion, he thought, as he stumbled to his feet noticing the tears in his shirt and jeans. No sign of his backpack or the shotgun and his jacket was missing. How he’d gotten here he had no idea, but he knew he had to get moving. Shivering he stared up at the sky trying to get his bearings, and then looked up the long span of blacktop in either direction. Not a light in sight, but at least he knew what direction town was in.

He had to get some help, he thought, though how he’d explain Dean vanishing in a flash of bright light he didn’t know. Wrapping his arms around himself, he scrubbed his biceps trying to warm up as he started up the road towards town. He didn’t feel right leaving like this, but right at the moment, he had no idea what else to do. That’s when he had an idea checking his pants pocket he sighed in relief at the feel of his cell. He pulled it out and frowned at the lack of a signal.

"Well a lot of good that did." He grumbled as he headed up the road pausing every few minutes to check for a signal.

 

***

 

The cottage sat back a few hundred yards from the cemetery, hidden in a grove of trees from the main road’s view. Dean found himself thankful  home to these two men wasn’t  far because as he limped down the narrow path, Tristan supporting him, he imagined  had it been he would have passed out by now. It was darker than the pits of hell were, he thought, as he lifted his gaze to the sky. As he studied the stars above, he had a sudden image of an older man holding a small boy about five or six in his arms.

_Hey, what do you think son? Should we teach Sammy to fish?_

Shaking off the image Dean realized  they were at the front door of the cottage and Tristan, who was a full three inches taller than him, carefully leaned him against the wall as he opened the door. Pushing the heavy wooden door inward, he stepped into the darkness, sat the lantern on a rough-hewn table, and then returned to where Dean slumped in the doorway.

"Where’s your dad?" Dean questioned as Tristan helped him into the cottage’s great room.

"Me father is taking care of checkin’ on the animals. Can’t exactly let them freeze to death if the storm hits before mornin’."

Nodding, Dean flashed Tristan a weak grin. "Guess that would be a good idea." The dull thud in his head began to increase and Dean ground his teeth together to try to ease it. "Hey, you wouldn’t have any Tylenol would you?"

Tristan turned away from where he was stoking the fire with a quizzical expression. "I know nothin’ of this Tylenol that you speak of, but a bit of this peppermint tea may help." He turned back to the fireplace hanging the kettle to warm the water.

"Great…" Dean mumbled, "…wherever I am it must be hell--no Tylenol."

***

He’d been walking for what seemed forever and he was so cold  it seemed his very bones were coated with a thin sheen of crystalline ice. He was on his last bits of energy, but he kept going, the image of Dean consumed by that brilliant bluish white light forced him on. Sam had never been a quitter about anything and the closest he’d come was when he’d left Dean and their father behind to go to school. He’d been young and he’d hated being trapped in a life created by his father out of anger and grief over their mother’s death.

At least that was what he’d thought and then his brother had shown up at Stanford. In those months, he’d come to respect Dean far more than he had before. Dean had sacrificed what he couldn’t until like their father he’d lost the woman he’d loved. He’d kept the secret from Dean for weeks before he’d admitted  he’d known  Jess was going to die and the guilt of not warning her was still eating him up inside. He couldn’t let Dean go it just wasn’t possible.

Glancing up with blurry eyes he saw  he’d reached the edge of town and a small hole in the wall had never looked better to him. As he got closer, he saw there was no activity to speak of in the streets and he glanced down at his watch his eyes trying to focus on the blurry numbers. Unfortunately, his watch was dead. It had to be later than he thought. Trudging forward, his body so numb he couldn’t feel his fingers or toes Sam kept repeating the same thing fighting to stay on his feet.

"Got to find help, got to find help--"

***

 

Bronwen Ingley had promised her dad  she’d go see old man Wells since his pick-up was on the down and outs and he couldn’t make their delivery. She really hated making the trip out of town since Wells gave her the creeps, but a promise was a promise.

She hadn’t been able to get away though until late, now it was coming up on midnight and she still had to unload the truck before she found her way to a warm bed. Early spring could always be a bite in the ass in Connecticut. You never knew whether it would be cold as hell or if it would be seventy degrees. Tonight was the kind of cold-assed night when she would've preferred watching a movie or reading a good book curled up with a mug of hot cocoa.

That was where her thoughts were when she crested the hill into town and her headlights pierced the mist to illuminate a figure stumbling down the road. At first, she thought it might just be Jessup again. Jessup was the town drunk and he was known to wander the roads late at night, but he always wore his army fatigues and this wasn’t him. Cautiously she pulled the truck to the side of the road as the figure stopped in her high beams, one arm thrown up to shade its face. Grabbing the pistol she kept in the glove box, she opened the door and slid out of the cab.

"Hey, you in trouble?" she moved toward the figure, her father’s voice berating her for a fool. "You need some help?"

"Bronwen?" the young man stuttered.

Her brows raised in shock. "Sam ain’t it?" she picked up speed as he wobbled toward her on unsteady legs, "Sam Winchester from the café."

"Please…I need to get--"

Sam suddenly tumbled forward and Bronwen surged forward catching him before he hit the gravel. Her eyes widened as she slowly lowered him to the ground. He was just wearing a torn tee shirt, his arms covered with bruises and cuts, his jeans were torn and stained and covered with brambles, but what had her more worried was the blood caked along the left side of his face.

"Hey, now…" she knelt in the gravel cradling his head, "…what happened to you?"

Sam blinked and looked up at her with misty unfocused eyes. "Woods…need help. Dean…" his voice faded as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Dear God you and that fool brother of yours went up there in the woods." Reaching inside her coat pocket, she pulled out her cell and dialed the sheriff.

 

***

 

Dean sat huddled on one of the benches Tristan had pulled close to the fire, a heavy quilt wrapped around his shoulders, and a mug of mint tea cradled in his hands. The warm smell of the mint made his eyes droop the ache in his skull easing with each sip. Across from him Tristan sat cross-legged whittling as his father behind him read silently, ever so often glancing up from the worn book to study Dean through squinted eyes.

"So…where am I?" Dean cleared his throat.

"Pomfret Township," Tristan glanced up from the wood he was working on, "Just outside Bara-Hack village. We found ye outside the cemetery. Knew then ye weren’t no local. No local would be caught dead or alive in these woods at this time of the night. Matter of fact they’d not be caught here after dark at all."

Meeting Tristan’s emerald gaze, Dean shivered, "Why, afraid of the boogey man? Have to say met him and really not all that scary."

James glanced up and sat his book aside. "Not wise makin’ fun of what ye don’t understand. These woods are a dark place even in the bright light of day."

"So why were you out there?" Dean drank the last of the tea.

"We’ve a job to do son and we’re the only ones who are brave enough. They might tell ye they have faith, but not a one in that village is truly faithful. No need to fear the darkness when ye have the Lord on yer side."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "So what’s out there in the woods? What’re all these people afraid of?"

"Only fools don’t listen to the injuns." James picked up his pipe. With trembling weathered hands he packed the bowl with loose tobacco as he spoke his voice rough with age and emotion. "Them injuns they know this place is haunted. The forest's been haunted for as long as they can remember. They warned them settlers twenty-five years ago and the damn fools went ahead and built here."

Another shiver traveled through Dean as he finally began to notice things he hadn’t before. There was no electricity and nothing vaguely modern to speak of anywhere. He swallowed hard as a sudden flash of another young man filled his vision.

_Come on, Dean, let’s get the fuck out of here--please? There’s something not right about this entire thing._

"Sammy…" he whispered, his throat tightening.

"Are you all right, son?"

He glanced up at James and swallowed hard. "Did you find anyone else out there?"

"Nay, why do ye ask, son?"

"Sam…Sam is my brother and we came here together." His eyes widened as an image of a gravestone surrounded by bluish light filled his mind’s eye. "What date is it?" He whispered.

"Well that’s an odd question…" James began.

"Just answer me."

"Tis’ the 25th of April of course."

"The year…what year is it." Dean’s face began to go white in fear. A part of him already knew the answer was not going to be 2006, but it still came as a shock when he heard Tristan whisper the answer.

"Tis’ the year of our lord 1806."

***

 

Waking with a start Sam felt warm, rough hands press against his chest, guiding him back down onto the soft cotton sheets beneath him. He was still half-asleep, but he could have sworn he heard Dean’s voice calling his name. "Where?"

"You’re in the clinic, Sam. Do you remember anything about last night?"

He focused on the young woman who stood next to his bed, her hand carefully brushing the hair from his face. Her face seemed familiar and then he recalled the café in Abington Four Corners. "Bronwen…Bronwen Ingley." He licked his too dry lips and calmed a bit.

"Yeah," she smiled down at him, "…you gave us a right fright last night. Sheriff Baxter had to go, but he’ll be back to get a statement from you."

"Statement?" Sam frowned, a sharp pain bursting along his left temple. "Oh, shit! Dean…we have to go find Dean." He tried to get up from the hospital bed only to have Bronwen push him back down.

"Now listen to me Sam Winchester. You ain’t in any shape to go off gallivanting in them woods or anywhere else. You have a concussion, which by the way came with a nice set of stitches, and you were a bit delirious when I found you stumbling down Route 97 last night."

"I need to--"

Bronwen growled. "You need to calm down and explain what happened to you. Or if you like I can go get Doc Kramer and he’ll stick a needle in that skinny ass of yours and you can explain to Sheriff Baxter later when you wake up." She lifted her hands in surrender though her eyes told a different story. "It’s up to you, Sam."

Groaning in frustration and pain, Sam settled against the pillows, one hand lifting to touch the wide band of gauze surrounding his head. "Look my brother is out in those damn woods and he could be hurt or dying."

"He’s not out there." Bronwen sat down in the chair satisfied  Sam wasn’t going to go for an escape again. "I figured you fool men would be poking around down there in the woods where no sane man would go. So, I told Sheriff Baxter to go check it out. They went down there at first light. They found a car down there parked by Mashomoquet Brook and they ran the plates. It was your brother’s car. Few of the locals went out to the old settlement looking for him or any sign of him."

Sam bit his lower lip fighting the tears rising in his throat. "What did they find?"

"Found a couple of backpacks and a couple of shotguns. Sheriff Baxter was a bit upset about those guns. That’s private land out there and there’s no hunting allowed."

He laughed a weak watery sound. "We weren’t hunting--at least not animals." As he thanked God or whatever else was out there they hadn’t found a body his eyes drifted shut. That had to mean Dean was still alive.

"Then what were you hunting?" Bronwen questioned, a frown marring her smooth tanned brow. "Because the Sheriff was a bit confused about the rock salt loaded in those shot guns."

"You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you."

"Try me. You might be surprised."

Sam turned towards Bronwen damp trails running down his bruised face. "Ghosts. We were hunting ghosts."

 

***

 

He wasn’t sure where he thought he was going, but he knew he had to get out of this place. He’d dropped the mug with a crash tossing the quilt to the bare wood floor and fled the tiny cottage and it’s odd occupants. Outside the storm James had spoken of had begun and the woods were a swirling mass of dark shadows and thick silvery snow. Wind howled through the skeletal branches of the trees reaching skyward disappearing into the blackness above him.

Running as fast as he could, Dean headed in the direction of the cemetery screaming at the top of his lungs despite the fact his voice was lost in the wild wind. "Sam! Can you hear me? Sammy! Damn you have to be out here! Sam!"

Behind him, he could here Tristan and his father James calling out his name. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the wall of the cemetery and could see the bobbing light of their lanterns in between the sheets of frozen snow. He had to find Sam and if he found Sam, he knew this nightmare would end.

Leaping the wall he hit the ground in a crouch and searched the snow capped gravestones for any sign of his brother. This was insane, he thought, none of this was real. Maybe he’d fallen and hit his head. Yeah, he thought, that was it. He’d fallen and hit his head and right now, he was in a hospital bed with a concussion, and there was--

A flash of an image crossed his vision like a flashbulb--quick and bright.

_Sam was lying in a hospital bed, head bandaged, and his face peaceful in sleep. Sunlight was playing across the soft cotton sheets and a young woman, the girl from the café, was sitting in a chair next to his bed._

As quick as it had appeared, it vanished and anger flooded him. "Sam!" He screamed again, his throat and lungs burning with the frigid air he inhaled. "Sam! Damn you, don’t leave me here!"

His foot slipped in the slick coating of snow and he came to a crashing halt on his knees. Tears welled in his eyes as he heard the two men who’d taken him in catching up. The snow soaked through his pants and dusted his hair with tiny crystals as he fell to his side, his tears freezing on his cheeks as he cried out to his brother one more time.

"Sam…" his voice seemed weak even to his ears, "…Sammy please don’t leave me here."

 

***

Sam opened his eyes and glanced over at Bronwen. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" She frowned.

He swallowed back bile as a shiver ran down his spine. Suddenly he was cold, so cold it felt as he were lying in snow and he released a breath the air escaping in a cloud of mist. Turning to Bronwen his eyes widened to match her own disbelieving expression.

"You saw that?" Sam’s voice tightened. "Tell me you're seeing this," he exhaled again sending a cloud of frigid mist into the warm hospital room.

Bronwen reached out touching Sam’s cheek, her fingertips grazing along his cheekbone. "Oh my God your skin…it’s freezing cold."

"It’s Dean." Sam whispered. "He’s still out there in those fucking woods. You have to help me Bronwen…you have too. What the hell is out there? What took my brother?"

Her face paled, as she seemed to consider something, a gambit of emotions running through the emerald green depths of her eyes. "There’s someone I can take you, too. Sheriff Baxter won’t like it and neither would my father."

"Who? Tell me Bronwen…" Sam begged, "…I can’t lose my brother."

"Miss Mair--Mair Hywels. She owns the property out there. Don’t know much about her, but she lives out there in a cottage. Land has been in her family for generations and she’s--"

"What?" Sam asked frustrated by her hesitation.

"Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, but she’s a witch."

***

 

On the hilltop overlooking the hollow where Bara-Hack lay silent and haunted by shadows Mair Hywels stood. One would never suspect her of being a witch or anything else of the sort. Her snowy hair was pulled back in a thick braid down her back to the base of her spine. She was dressed in well worn denim, green plaid flannel, and on one hand she wore a heavy leather glove, her other hand shaded her sharp blue eyes as she followed the movement of a dark shape high in the clear spring sky.

"Storm’s a comin’ Gruffydd." Her gaze drifted down where a sleek wolfhound lay at her booted feet, his eerie silver eyes meeting hers as if in answer. "Doorways been opened again and they’ve taken an innocent." She sighed. "This time they grabbed the wrong one though. Hunters always come in pairs don’t they?"

She reached down as the wolfhound stood, scratching his ears, and then let out a high-pitched whistle. From high in the sky, the dark shape glided down on wide spread wings that swallowed the sunlight and reflected it back as a blue tinged darkness.

"They’ll be coming soon." She smiled down at her companion and let out another whistle, holding her arm out.

The raven glided down and landed on her extended arm with a loud caw. Cocking it’s head, it watched the old woman with glittering black eyes as she reached into the pack at her waist, pulling out a piece of apple. Mair smiled at the bird and held out the apple with a slim work roughened hand, pale, and crisscrossed with faint blue veins.

"You did well Poe…go ahead and have your reward."

Another caw, this one softer escaped the raven before it bowed its head and plucked the apple delicately from Mair’s fingers.

"Hope I’m not mistaken and them boys are strong enough." Turning she disappeared into the trees, the wolfhound at her heels, and the raven perched on her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Sheriff Robert Baxter was not a happy man in the least, which wasn’t surprising considering he had one boy missing and another with a severe concussion. Of course, that was par for the course when it came to those damnable woods. Most of the locals except a few smart mouthed teenagers knew better than to go poking about out at Bara-Hack. That place was a haunted place and a dangerous place especially now.

"Listen to me son. You’ve suffered both psychological and physical trauma and you’re not in any condition to leave this hospital."

Glancing over at Baxter, Sam strapped on his watch, head shaking. "I don’t have time to lie around in bed. My brother is out there in those woods and he’s in trouble."

Baxter sighed. "He ain’t out there, son. We spent the entire morning searching and there was nary a sign of him." He inhaled sharp through his nose.

The last thing he needed was this kid getting himself lost in those woods. He remembered what had happened back in ’56. He’d just been a fifteen-year-old kid, but he remembered those campers that had disappeared. They’d simply vanished and there had been no sign of them for a year. One year to the day of their disappearance, a hunter had stumbled over their remains. Two young men, their bodies decayed and violated sexually, thick hemp ropes binding their wrists. Around their necks were nooses of the same rope, ends frayed as if they’d broken under the weight of the victims.

Afterward, the town had decided to do their best to steer any curious visitors away from the ruins. Stories still ran rampant among the youngsters; stories of bright blue flickering lights, of glimpses of tiny figures darting among the trees, and the faint echo of child-like voices. Soon the kids had started calling Bara-Hack the village of voices and they’d dare one another to go in and retrieve stones from what remained of the foundations of the long gone cottages.

"Look, Sheriff I get that you’re scared, but I’m not leaving Dean out there."

Baxter’s attention snapped from the floor to focus on Sam as he ran one hand through his snow- white hair. "I know you did not just accuse me of being a coward, boy." His voice came out tight with anger. Forty-five years he'd spent as an Abington Four Corners police officer and he’d been accused of a great number of things, but never of being a coward.

"I didn’t say that," Sam met the sheriff’s steady gaze, "…but I know there’s something out there in those woods and so do you. There’s no way you and your men covered those woods in six hours so that leaves me with one conclusion. You know what’s out there and you’re too damn scared to push it for some reason." Turning away Sam picked up the two backpacks the sheriff had returned, shifting his onto his back he let Dean’s dangle from his fingers. "When do I get my guns back?" He turned back, lips a tight thin line in his pain-filled face.

Baxter shook his head. "You don’t. I suggest you get in your car and you drive the hell out of this town." He crossed the room and paused in the door. "I’m sorry son, but you ain’t going to find your brother." Then he walked out, disappearing down the hall.

Biting his lower lip Sam lifted his gaze to the ceiling, breathing in and out of his nose, trying to calm himself. Dean’s pack slipped from his fingers and he growled, fist slamming into the wall. He couldn’t stop the anger that swelled in his throat as he continued punching the wall. Lost in the anger he didn’t notice the way the plaster cracked or the bloody knuckle prints he left behind with each punch. He sure in the hell didn’t notice Bronwen enter the room or the look of horror in her eyes.

"Sam!" She ran across the room. "Sam! Stop it! Stop it now!" She grabbed his drawn back arm and slapped him across the face with her free hand.

He blinked a few times, and then focused on Bronwen’s worried expression. "I…I’m sorry." he was at a loss for words. He was so angry and frustrated, but none of it was this woman’s fault.

"It’s okay." her fingers tightened in a quick squeeze around his bicep. "I know Baxter was in here and he ain’t exactly the easiest man to get. Now let’s get you signed out of this place before they realize you damaged their wall."

Sam glanced over at the wall and then at his hand. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been hitting the wall until Bronwen had pointed it out. He’d never been the angry one except when his father had told him if he was going not to bother coming back. He’d been real damn angry then. His father pushing him away had almost crushed his spirit, but when he’d arrived at Stanford, the first person he’d met was Jess. Jess had been a light in an otherwise dark time and in a few short months; their friendship had bloomed into love.

Sucking a deep breath in he let his gaze drop to Dean’s pack and then he bent over, grabbing the straps. He’d lost Jess to the darkness, light extinguished in a split second of fire and brimstone, he wasn’t about to lose Dean. Now with their father's perverse game of hide and seek, Dean was all he had left.

Suddenly his cell rang and he fumbled in his pocket. Flipping it open, he swallowed hard. "Dean?"

_"No, it’s me Sam."_

"Dad? Where the hell are you?"

_"I can’t tell you that and you--"_

"Sacramento? Are you still there? On second thought, I don’t care. I need your help, Dad…I…Dean’s missing."

Bronwen gave Sam a curious glance and he shook his head.

_"You’re in Abington Four Corners."_

"How in the hell…?"

_"Listen to me Sammy. If they have Dean you might not--"_

"Don’t!" Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Don’t you dare tell me he's a lost cause. I can’t believe you’re willing to give up on him!"

 _"Go see_ _Mair_ _Hywels_ _."_

"I already am." Sam sighed, rubbing the knot of pain forming between his eyes.

 _"So you’ve met Wen."_ John chuckled.

Sam focused on where Bronwen leaned against the wall. "You know my father?"

She nodded. "Course it didn’t register that you were John’s sons until after I found you wandering up Route 97."

_"Sam?"_

At his father’s voice, Sam shook himself. "Yeah, she’s here."

_"Good. Wen will know how to get you up there to Mair. Whatever she tells you Sammy you listen to her--do you hear me?"_

"Yes, I hear you." Sam’s gaze stayed locked on Bronwen. "Dad, what’s got Dean? What’s out in those woods?"

There was a moment of silence and then John Winchester cleared his throat. _"Sometimes there is no explanation. Sometimes a place is just evil."_

Just as Sam opened his mouth to speak, the phone went dead. "Damn you." He whispered.

 

***

 

Dean was lost.

At least he thought he was lost. Then again, if he were lost how’d he gotten that way?

Lying in the darkness Dean shivered as icy fingers trailed against his naked skin teasing and gentle--a lover’s touch. He tried to move, but there was something pressing against his body, pinning him down. He tried to cry out for help, but the words refused to come.

_Sinner_

That’s when the fear took over. A wild terrifying emotion that tangled around his lungs like thick jungle vines, squeezing the air from them. Its tendrils curled around his heart squeezing it until he thought that it would stop beating.

_Sinner_

"No!" He gasped out between cracked and bleeding lips. "No! Let me go!"

 

***

 

"Hush…tis’ okay. Ye are safe here."

Dean’s eyes flicked open cloudy vision revealing a young man above him, "Where?"

"Ye made yourself sick. Ran out into the storm and took me father and I an hour to find ye."

"Tristan…" Dean coughed. "You’re name is Tristan." He felt like he was suffocating and freezing all in the same ragged breath.

Tristan smiled as he reached over dipping a cloth in a tin wash pan. "Aye, tis’ good ye remember me name." Ringing out the cloth, he patted down Dean’s face and neck gently. "Seems your fever might be breaking…Father will be glad to hear that when he comes back."

Eyes drifting shut Dean lay still enjoying the feel of the cool cloth against his burning skin. An image filled his mind’s eye of his mother, leaning over him, and stroking his head with a cool cloth.

_"It’s okay my sweet baby boy. Mama is here."_

He felt his throat tighten at that memory. It was one of the only ones he had of her before she died. It’d been the spring before and Sammy was still in her belly. He remembered his dad carrying him to bed and his mom sitting next to him, watching over him, and he remembered her cool soft hands. As it rushed back, he felt the tears well in his throat and seep from beneath his clenched lids.

"Hush now."

Dean opened his eyes, the tears trembling on his lashes. "Who are you?"

Leaning down Tristan placed a gentle kiss on Dean’s lips. "Ye know who I am." He whispered against his lips. "Tristan and they turned against me because of who I am."

The room began to spin as his vision became unfocused and his body reacted to that gentle kiss. "No…" he mumbled softly, "…don’t."

"I know the truth in your mind. Ye are so like me." Tristan’s eyes seemed to glow for a moment. "I was driven from the village for who I am."

"What?" Dean gasped as Tristan’s hands caressed his shoulders.

"A lover of men." he whispered. "They say I’ll be burning in hell, but tis’ them who will burn in hell. God made us all. Are ye afraid of what your brother would think?"

"I’m not…I never." Dean’s eyes widened as Tristan slid the quilts back, baring his chest to the cooler air of the cottage.

"No need to lie to me, for I can see inside your soul."

Shaking his head Dean tried to push Tristan away, but he didn’t seem to have the strength. "Please don’t--"

 

***

 

Bronwen had convinced Sam to leave Dean’s car back in town and to let her drive and so she found her jeep filled with an odd assortment of weapons as she drove down the narrow back roads. Sam sat next to her in the passenger seat, his now bandaged hand cradled in his lap and his head leaning back against the headrest. He looked so young, she thought, even though he was just three or four years younger than she was. Perhaps, it was stubborn flare in his eyes when anyone dare tell him his brother was gone. Or maybe it was the bruise spread across his forehead from beneath the small gauze pad. Sighing she reached for the cigarettes in her jacket pocket and lit one up.

"How do you know my father?"

She glanced at Sam from the corner of her eye and took another drag. "I met him years ago when I was only ten. I met you and your brother, too."

Sitting up Sam shifted in the seat so he was facing her. "I don’t understand how you could have met us."

"Look it’s a bit complicated, but here’s the gist. My mother was a hunter just like you and Dean are." She exhaled, her eyes focusing on the road as it wound through the thick trees.

"Hunters?" Sam raised a brow.

"Yeah, hunters." she swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "Some people are fated to be hunters and no matter how hard you fight it you still are pulled in. Hunters are the ones who believe and know evil in this world because they’ve been touched by it. You lost your mom and my mom lost her twin sister."

Sam frowned. "Mom…Jess…"

Shaking her head, Bronwen laughed a sad bitter sound that made Sam look up with wide eyes. "You’re just now getting it? The demon that hunts the hunters does not kill the hunters, but takes those whom they love and yeah it’s always a female." She hit the brakes hard, bringing the jeep to a screeching halt in a cloud of dust. "The female is the most powerful of the human race despite what modern man may think. They hold the ability within them to create life and to nurture it."

"That’s why the demon took Mom—Jess?" Sam’s voice lowered.

Bronwen turned to Sam, a look of compassion in her bright green eyes. "Who knows why the demon does what it does? We’re only human. Maybe it destroys the females to increase its power or perhaps it does it to ignite the switch inside the hunters. It ultimate doesn’t mean a damn thing." She shifted the jeep into gear and pulled back onto the road. "My mother was a hunter and she came here. She met my father, fell in love, and decided to stay and help guard Bara-Hack." She sighed as they crested the hill, Sam’s eyes locked on her pale face as she let her thoughts drift back into the past and that night when she was nine years old. "The demon had other plans." She whispered.

Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, easing down along the curve of her cheekbone as Sam watched. The horror of what she was saying settled in the pit of his belly and began to writhe like a pissed off snake ready to strike in a split second. "The fire consumed her."

A quick nod from Bronwen confirmed what Sam already knew. "A year later your father came to Abington Four Corners with his two sons, a ten year old and a six year old. He was searching for my mother, but it was too late. My father had been initiated into the world of the hunters. He like my mom decided to stay here and help guard Bara-Hack."

"What the fuck is out there?"

Bronwen turned to Sam as she pulled onto a short wooded drive and came to a stop. "I don’t know, Sam, but she does."

Sam let his gaze travel along Bronwen’s lifted arm to where her finger pointed at what appeared to be an ancient stone cottage surrounded by an iron fence. Standing at the gate was an old woman, a wolfhound at her feet, and a huge raven perched on her shoulder. At the exact moment, his gaze settled on her, Sam knew the truth of what this woman was. He also knew that she was his only chance to save his brother.

 

***

 

Lying as still as possible, Dean’s eyes drifted shut. He was sure that he’d heard Sam’s voice before, in the storm, and he knew he’d seen him. Wherever he was, somehow he could hear and see Sam. And if he was lucky, then maybe he could be heard as well. He wanted out of this place and away from Tristan and he couldn’t escape soon enough.

"Why would ye be frightened of me?"

Dean’s eyes flew open, fear flickering in their golden-green depths. "You’re not fucking real." He ground out between clenched teeth. "None of this is real. It’s not 1806 it’s god damn 2006!" That time his voice came out shrill with a mix of anger and fear.

"Ye are ill." Tristan’s eyes shimmered with sadness.

"I’m not!" Dean threw back the quilts not caring that he was completely naked or caring why he was in such a state. "I don’t belong here!"

He stumbled to his feet only to have his knees collapse beneath him. Suddenly he found himself cradled in Tristan’s strong arms, his head resting against his broad shoulder, and his sparkling green eyes looking down at him with a mix of lust and something else that Dean dared not contemplate.

"As I said…ye’ve been ill." Tristan smiled down at Dean as he squirmed. "Ye have to get some rest." He lay Dean down on the bed, pulling the covers back over him.

Dean swallowed hard as he looked up at Tristan through blurry eyes. He suddenly had the notion that Tristan wasn’t human. That he was a spirit of some kind. "What did you do?"

"Nothin’…no worries me sweet Daniel."

"My name isn’t Daniel…it’s Dean." He croaked out through cracked lips. "Tell me what you did."

Tristan’s eyes once soft now hardened in anger. "I told ye nothin’!"

"Where is your father?" Dean felt like he was floating within a cloud of ice.

"He went to the village for supplies." Tristan stood and moved across the room to the fireplace. "They allow him to come, but they won’t allow me."

"In this storm?" Dean fought to set up, confused.

The cottage had changed somehow from the first time he remembered. His heart was racing as he reached out and touched the rough wood of the bedside table. The wood was cold to the touch and his fingers seemed to sink through it for just a split second. He swallowed hard, his eyes widening.

"The storm is over, Daniel. Your safe here, always safe in me arms."

 

***

 

"It’s about time you brought the hunter to me." Mair Hywels snorted, her pale blue eyes narrowing as she studied Sam. "Bit on the skinny side and a bit young, but who am I to doubt the muse of the calling? What’s your name boy?"

"Sam," he cleared his throat, extending his hand out in greeting, "…Sam Winchester."

Mair raised one snowy brow with a smirk, "Should have known the hunters ran in that blood line. Your blood comes back every now and then."

She grabbed his hand in a tight grip and suddenly the entire world tilted on its axis and began spinning wildly. Images flashed through his mind some were memories of his own and others were images that held no meaning to him.

_A young girl of twelve with silver streaked hair._

_Dean_ _working on his bicycle as he played with his Hot wheels in the dirt. The sun was beating down on them and the scent of honeysuckle strong and sweet filled the air._

_Flames were swirling around Jess’ pain-filled face, her eyes dark and vacant._

_Bright green eyes peered from a cold darkness and the sound of weeping filled the same darkness as the eyes faded away into shadow._

_Dean was in the dark, curled on his side, and the scent of musty earth and death surrounded him._

_Sam_ _? Sammy? Can you hear me? Don’t leave me here!_

_The young girl again, but this time she was maybe sixteen and a puppy lay in her lap sleeping as she cradled an egg in her palms. She glanced up and her voice was the echo that was left behind as the image faded._

_I know you’re watching me Tristan…let him go…let him go…_

Sam sucked in a deep breath as his fingers slipped from Mair’s and he fell flat on his ass. His heart was pounding against his ribs like a herd of buffalo. "You…you…"

"Yep," Mair grinned, a silver light skimming across her bright eyes. "There are hunters son and then there are guardians. Bronwen help the boy to his feet and get your asses in the house. I see we got some talking to do." She turned on her boot heel and marched down the path, the wolfhound at her heels and the raven now perched on the roof above the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

Mair Hywels’ cottage wasn’t exactly what he expected, but then Sam wasn’t sure what he had expected. There was no clutter and yet there was no waste of space. A large plain pine table ran the length of the back wall of the cottage  facing the east. On the table were numerous jars containing oils, spices, and herbs some of which Sam knew and others that were a complete mystery. What surprised him was the computer system on the table. It was state of the art, flat screen, wireless keyboard and mouse, laser printer/fax/scanner, and next too it sat an mp3 player. His brows rose as he checked the beautifully maintained equipment out and right behind him, he heard a soft chuckle.

Glancing up he saw Mair standing on the other side of the desk, her lips curled in a half smile, half smirk, scratching the wolfhound’s ears. "What did you expect? Dusty tomes in half-forgotten languages?"

"Sorry." Sam managed to choke out as he felt the blood rush into his face. "It’s just you’re not…I mean…"

With a snort, she turned and whistled heading for the doors along the back wall that led out into a small garden. "We guardians have accepted time moves on and we’ve become accustom to technology. That does not in any way say we have forgotten our roots, but we do use the technological world to our advantage as I imagine you do."

She ushered the hound out into the late afternoon sunlight Sam following her and Bronwen stood silent in the door. She’d not said a word since they crossed the threshold of the cottage and Sam wondered what was going on behind those eerie eyes. He wanted to know, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. As he stepped from beneath the roof’s overhang into the warm sunlight, he noticed the raven sitting on a raggedy looking scarecrow that watched over neat rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowering plants. A shudder traveled down his spine as he looked up into the empty eye sockets carved in the thing’s gourd head. He hated scarecrows.

"Sam?"

He shook himself from the memories of the scarecrow hunting him and Dean in an apple orchard. "Yeah?" He flashed Bronwen a lop-sided grin.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Scarecrows," Sam mumbled, “I hate frigging scarecrows."

"Well, son you have you a shitload more, than scarecrows to worry ‘bout up here---now don’t you?" Mair’s pale eyes focused on his face, hand lifting to motion him to the bench where she sat, the hound curled at her feet.

A flash of an image from earlier came back to him, young woman with silver streaks in her hair. There was a sudden clarity in his mind he’d not had since Dean vanished, "You…" he whispered, "…you’re like me. That’s what happened when you took my hand. You shared your memories and you glimpsed into mine."

Mair laughed as Sam settled on the bench next to her. "No, not exactly, son. You see we both have a calling, but yours is in the hunting and me well mine is in the guarding. There are powers out there most folks don’t have the sense to know ‘bout."

"Bronwen told me earlier the demon," his throat tightened as he tried to say the words, " the demon who took…"

"There’s more than one son." Mair’s eyes held a raw sadness, "…they are the ones who inspire the killers and suicides of this world. Just like there are ranks of angels there are ranks of demons in the spiritual world."

Sam opened his mouth and tried to ask the question, but the words wouldn’t come. Although, he couldn’t speak them Mair seemed to know what he needed. He needed to know if the demon that had killed his mother and Jess was what had taken Dean in the cemetery.

"No, son." Her voice softened, filling with compassion. "Your daddy is on that demon’s tail. What took your brother ain’t a demon."

"Then what?"

Mair’s gaze drifted back down the hillside into the thick trees and she sighed. "That place down there ain’t no Ley line either. It’s a place where the veil between worlds is paper thin, a doorway of sorts. Tristan took your brother. He doesn’t know he’s dead and he don’t know  your brother ain’t his Daniel."

"Tristan? Who the hell is…?"

Bronwen cleared her throat. "How do you know it’s him?" Her gaze focused on Mair and tears shimmered across the surface of her eyes.

"Your daddy knows and so do you. Why do you think your daddy would skin your hide if he knew you were up here with this boy? Tristan needs to be released from his guilt and not a one of your family wants to admit---"

"Whoa!" Sam stood suddenly, his eyes narrowing. "Who the fuck is this Tristan? Why did he take Dean?"

Tears finally falling down her cheeks, her chest tightening, Bronwen turned to Sam. "Please promise me  you won’t be angry, Sam."

"I’m already pissed!" Sam snapped, his shaking hand threading through his shaggy hair. "Just tell me who this fucker is and why he took Dean?"

Bronwen took a deep breath. "He was a son of my family." She whispered. "He betrayed his lover Daniel generations ago. He went mad with grief when Daniel turned away from him. The spirits who roam that place made him do the unthinkable." She swallowed hard and turned away from Sam’s disbelieving gaze. "You were there. You heard the whispers and the laughter in those woods."

"What did he do?" Sam hissed through clenched teeth.

"He lured Daniel into the woods and he…" she choked for a moment, "…he raped and murdered Daniel, then killed himself. The villagers found them both hanging from a tree."

***

Dean shuddered with cold and swallowed back the bitter taste of fear that coated his tongue as he looked up into Tristan’s emerald eyes. "Please…I’m not Daniel. Hell I don’t even know who Daniel is." A terrified, weak smile curled his trembling lips. "Just let me go home…let me go back to Sam."

"Daniel ye have nothin’ to be frightened of…tis’ me Tristan." Tristan leaned over Dean and stroked his cheek. "I’ve loved ye from the moment I saw ye. I won’t allow your heart to be taken from me."

Swallowing hard Dean tugged at the rough hemp ropes binding his wrists to the bed above his head. "You are hurting me." He whispered trying to keep the fear pushed down. "Please just untie my wrists and we can talk about this." He tugged desperately at the ropes, but the knots were secure, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how they’d become bound.

"Talk?" Tristan’s eyes narrowed. "Nothin’ to talk about. I know you’re only marryin’ that stupid wench because of your father. He believes what we have is wrong, but I won’t stand by and let him take ye from me."

Dean picked his brain for clues in Tristan’s ramblings, anything that might tell him how he’d gotten here. It was as if he was trapped in a nightmare, surreal, and unforgiving in the reality of it, and still he couldn’t wake up. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, this wasn’t like him, losing control of his emotions like this. He was the big brother, the one who was strong, and his thoughts drifted to Sammy.

What had happened out there in the cemetery? Was Sammy safe?

"Daniel let me show ye how much I love ye."

His eyes flew open as Tristan pulled back the quilts and his hard-muscled body lowered down on top of him. "What the hell are you doing?" Dean screamed struggling beneath the weight of the man above him. "Get the hell off me!"

Tristan forced Dean’s thighs apart, eyes glowing. "Your mine my sweet Daniel and none shall take ye from me."

Panting Dean tugged harder at the ropes as Tristan’s lips grazed his collarbone. "Oh, fuck no!" He kicked and squirmed beneath the suffocating weight.

Rearing back Tristan’s eyes flashed with anger as he drew back his hand, slapping Dean hard across the face. "Look what ye’ve made me do!" He slapped Dean again harder this time. "All I want to do is love ye!"

Dean coughed, blood spattering his lips from where he’d bit the inside of his mouth. "Let me go don’t fucking do this!" he screamed. "You’re wrong I’m not Daniel!" Inside he was screaming even louder, thoughts on his brother. He had to escape this nightmare; he couldn’t leave Sammy all alone.

***

 

They’d finished talking with Mair and still Sam wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d feel better, he thought, when he was with the Impala waiting behind the café. It was strange being here, in this place, without Dean by his side.

It suddenly happened as they were getting ready to get back in the truck and head into town and it was something  Sam Winchester would never forget. A memory that would stick to him, one like the one of Jess dying in front of his eyes

At first, it was just a whisper, a buzz like an annoying insect next to Sam’s ear. He reached up to flick the insect away and his hand froze halfway. His vision began to blur around the edges like smeared paint and pain shot through his head. With a grunt he fell to his knees, the gravel digging into them did nothing to dissipate the pain in his skull, as he clutched at his head.

"Sam? Sam?"

He could hear Bronwen, but it was as if he was beneath water.

_Sammy_ _._

"Dean?" Sam hissed out between his clenched teeth.

_Sorry, so sorry_

The coppery tang of blood coated his tongue and he tried to scream to tell Bronwen what he heard, but he couldn’t speak. He felt his body pinned down beneath a heavy weight and he couldn’t breathe. He was so cold and the stench of rot and moldering earth filled his nose. Trying to draw in a breath, he began to gag.

_Just wanted to protect you_

Sam’s mouth opened, contorted in a silent scream of anguish as he rocked back on his heels. He could feel warm arms wrap around him and Bronwen’s voice, liquid and muffled, screaming his name and then Mair’s name. Every muscle in his body tensed as he felt something rough and tight around his wrists.

Don’t leave me, he begged silently. Tell me where you are Dean. Jesus please, Dean.

_Cold_

He felt rough ice-cold hands, force his thighs apart and his body jerked wildly. It was as if he no longer knew where he stopped and Dean began. He was trapped in a whirlpool of sensation, but at the same time, he was blind, the darkness swallowing him, even as Bronwen's warm fingers caressed his face. His chest tightened and he couldn’t breathe for the span of a few heartbeats and he was sure he was going to die.

As sudden as it began, it was over.

Sam sat up, arms flailing, fingers clawing at his throat, as his lungs worked overtime sucking in huge quantities of cool spring air. "Dean!" He screamed as his body went limp.

"Sam?"

Groaning softly Sam’s eyes fluttered as he tried to pull himself out of the darkness. A few seconds passed and he could feel Bronwen’s fingers carding through his hair.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

He blinked and tried to focus on her voice. It took a few seconds, but finally his eyes focused and he could see Bronwen’s pale, terrified face hovering above him. "Wen?" He croaked out between parched lips. He reached up with one trembling hand and touched her tear streaked cheek. "You’re crying."

She began laughing an edge of hysteria in her voice. "Oh, God you scared the hell out of me. What the hell was that?"

"Vision…" he mumbled as his gaze came to rest on his wrist. Curious, he thought, where had that come from? "Do you see that?"

"What?" Bronwen’s brow creased.

"This."

Sam turned his head as Mair curled slender, rough fingers around his arm. He met her gaze, then turned back to Bronwen as she brought her face close to his wrist.

"What the hell? That looks like---"

"Rope burn." Sam whispered his voice rough like sandpaper. "We have to find him…we have to find Dean, now."

***

He’d always been a fighter. There hadn’t been a moment in his life after his mother’s death  he hadn’t fought. Hell, he’d fought that night to be honest. He remembered his father’s voice rough with fear and the thick black smoke swelling like storm clouds along the ceiling of the hallway. He’d been scared, but then he’d been four years old and having Sammy pushed into his arms by his terrified father had only made him more fearful.

There was something though from that night that didn’t hold fear. Something so simple  some people might think it silly, especially if they knew it was what Dean always drew to him to calm his fear.

His father had thrust Sammy into his arms, wrapped in a blanket, and for a moment, he’d felt the fear his father felt overwhelm him. After that night, fear would always hold the sensation of heat and taste of thick smoke for him. When his arms had tightened around the tiny wriggling body in his arms, he’d been given the strength to endure that fear.

That fresh baby smell.

Smooth pink skin softer than anything else he’d ever touched. That scent held the ability to help him hide from the fear. When he’d ran from their home, his face burrowed in the smooth skin of his baby brother’s neck, the fear had evaporated like night dew in the first rays of the warm morning sun. As he’d reached the sidewalk, Dean had lifted his head, looking back at the windows of what had been his home and they flared with a wicked red-gold light. The light in those windows had brought the fear back full force, tears, the only tears he’d ever allowed himself, had shimmered in his eyes, and then he’d heard Sammy.

It was just a soft gurgle, but it was enough for him to look back into his baby brother’s big wide, innocent eyes. He remembered that look and sometimes if he focused, even now, he could see that innocence in Sam’s wide eyes and he could almost catch a hint of that fresh scent of warm baby skin.

Sam had been his rock from that moment forward. Even when miles of meandering blacktop had separated them, all he had to do was close his eyes and bring forth that memory. It was that memory that kept him from the pain and fear now as he whispered Sam’s name repeatedly.

***

 

Sam was shivering so hard  he could barely stand as Mair had helped him into the back seat of Bronwen’s jeep. Even being wrapped in the thick blankets  Mair had retrieved from her house didn’t seem to ease the cold that seeped into every pore, joint, and muscle of his aching body. A part of him knew what he felt was what Dean felt and tears welled along the edge of his tightly clenched lids, sparkling on his thick lashes, as Mair held him in her arms and barked orders to Bronwen.

The ride down from Mair’s house was no easier than the ride up had been. Every rock, pebble, and pothole jostled Sam, but that was good, he thought. It kept him from slipping completely into the visions that still squeezed his head like a vice. What he saw he couldn’t---no wouldn’t speak of no matter how much Mair questioned him.

Dean’s voice echoed in his head as he watched the thing lay above him (or was it Dean?). It whispered promises of love eternal and sweet release from rotting lips. He saw it’s true face and his back bowed as he felt it force its way into Dean’s trembling body. The pain was sharp and brilliant behind his eyelids as he gasped for air. He tried to scream, but it was useless as he felt his---no Dean’s body being violated in the most primitive and violent of ways.

A choking whine rose from Sam’s throat escaping through clenched teeth as the thing thrust in and out of Dean’s tight body. His head thrashed against Mair’s body as she whispered soft words in his ears. Her voice, like Bronwen’s before, seemed watery and muffled to his ears.

_Sammy_

The whisper caused him to cry out, a guttural, and painful noise almost animal in nature. "Dean." his half-choked plea was almost more than he could stand to hear. He felt useless and betraying in his inability to stop the thing that was hurting Dean.

_Please…don’t_

Sam moaned and his body convulsed as the thing’s thrusts picked up. He could feel flesh tear, bruise, and the warm stickiness seeping from his brother’s ravaged body.

_Not your fault_

"Sam!"

Mair’s sharp voice brought him back to the surface for a split second and his eyes opened wide, pupils dilated in pain. "God…oh, god…no…" he moaned, tears streaking his face.

"Samuel!" Mair snapped again. "Come back to us, son. You can not suffer your brother’s pain!"

Taking a ragged breath, he shook his head. "Have to…" he whimpered, "…my fault."

Another flash of corpse like lips caressing Dean’s skin sent Sam into a convulsion. The pain was even worse now as Dean struggled against the thing’s rotting body as it pushed his trembling thighs back, sinking deeper into his body.

"No…" Sam wailed as he fought against the cocoon of blankets and Mair’s rock solid grip. "Please…please…leave him alone---"

His words were cut off as he felt bony fingers curl around Dean’s throat, but he could feel them tighten around his own as well. The stench was close to unbearable as it thrust harder into Dean’s body, its fingers digging into the pale skin and leaving tiny blossoms of scarlet behind.

_I’m sorry Sammy…_

 

Dean’s words pierced through the pain in Sam’s skull. "No…no…"

_Always my rock, always_

Suddenly the thing reared up, dark vacant eye sockets glimmering with green fire. Sam’s throat tightened, as he realized  it knew someone else was there in its world of darkness and pain and he could hear it finally speak. Its voice was somewhere between crackling ice and screeching hinges, rusted and long unused.

_Mine…sinners are always mine…_

Sam shook his head his mouth falling open and his eyes going wide in horror as its putrid lips curled into what passed for a smile on a corpse’s face. He watched as it tightened its fist around Dean’s throat, his tear streaked face flushing a deep reddish-plum, and his brilliant green eyes widening.

_Sinners, betrayers…they taste sweet to us…_

Sucking in air desperately Sam tried to speak, but the air seemed unable to reach his lungs. Dean was going to die, he thought, and he couldn’t stop it.

_Tristan was a sinner…now he belongs to us…_

Sam began to convulse in Mair’s arms as she tried to soothe him. Her pale gaze drifted up to the rearview mirror and met Bronwen’s terrified eyes reflected in the silvered surface. She shook her head as if in answer to an unspoken question. "How far?" Her gaze flitted back to Sam’s purpled face as he tried to breathe, his lips taking on a bluish tint as she glanced back up.

"A mile." Bronwen hissed and slammed harder on the gas, the jeep lurching forward with a roar, and a spray of gravel as she turned off the dirt road onto Route 97.

***

 

Dean lay trembling trying to suck in air and he knew this wouldn’t be the last time. His heart thundered in his chest as he watched Tristan get dressed. He’d thought he’d experienced everything he could at this point. He’d been shot, burned, stabbed, and had the shit kicked out of him on more than one occasion, but nothing had prepared him for this. He couldn’t even think the word much less say it.

Biting his lip, Dean turned his head away from where Tristan was stoking the fire. It had been so brutal and painful, yet now this man or thing, whatever it was acted as if nothing had happened. He swallowed a choked breath as he tried to shift to his side the feel of blood sticky between his thighs only reminding him of what he so desperately wanted to forget. Through it all he’d had that memory, that scent to take the edge off the horror and pain off what was being done to him. He’d tried to fight, he thought to himself, hadn’t he? He hadn’t wanted this to happen.

Sharp pain ripped through his pelvis and he whimpered deep in his throat. Eyes drifting shut he tugged at the ropes that held his wrists above his head weakly hoping he had a chance still to escape. He had thought for a moment  Sam had been with him during the worst of the ordeal, but perhaps it was just wishful thinking. The idea of not being alone was all that had gotten him through it.

"Sammy…" he whispered through bloodied lips as he finally allowed himself to release the terror in a choked sob, "…don’t leave me here. God, please…let me die."

***

 

The glass vibrated in the emergency room doors, as an enraged Mair flung them back, she and Bronwen struggling with Sam’s weight between them. The blankets she’d wrapped him in now dragged the floor behind them, dangling precariously from his shaking shoulders as he fought to breathe.

"We need some help here!"

Bronwen screamed as his weight finally became too much for their strength and he crumpled to his knees. Two nurses and a doctor rushed forward, a third nurse grabbing a gurney and following close on their heels.

"What happened?" The doctor barked, as he and the three nurses worked in tandem to lift Sam’s now convulsing body up and onto the gurney.

"Ask that dumb assed sheriff we have!" Mair snapped then took a deep breath. "He started having problems breathin’ when he was at my house."

Giving Mair a sidelong glance the doctor growled. "Allergies?" As he felt for Sam’s pulse, then checked his pupils. He barked an order to one of the nurses who turned and ran for the nearest exam room, the doors swinging wildly in her wake.

She snorted. "None  I’m aware of." Her gaze captured Bronwen’s across the gurney, where she clutched Sam’s hand, tears dripping down her face. "He’s been convulsing’ off and on."

Other orders were given to what seemed a blur of faces to the two women, as their gazes never wavered. Silently they made a promise not to go where they knew the doctor wouldn’t follow. This entire town was in denial and no matter what, fighting with the doctor wouldn’t help Sam.

The gurney slammed through the door with a crash of metal and slid next to an exam table. "On three!" The doctor yelled as they hefted Sam up and over, his fingers slipping from Bronwen’s sweat slicked hand. "You two need to get back!" He turned back to the nurses and barked loudly, his voice ringing though the room. "Blockage?"

"Not that I can see!"

"Get him intubated…O2 levels are way too damn low from the looks of his coloring!"

Mair wrapped her arms around Bronwen pulling her back from the flurry of activity as the young woman began to sob brokenly. "This is my fault…I should have…I should have warned them."

"There are some things that are meant to happen." Mair spoke her voice soft and barely audible above the roar of voices just a few feet away. "This is part of what the boy needs to go through. He needs to learn the truth of what he can do."

"Fuck!" The doctor’s voice rose as he stepped around the gurney and ripped Sam’s tee shirt open from collar to waist. "We’re losing him!"

One of the nurses grabbed the phone at the side and suddenly her voice boomed over the paging system. "Code blue! Code blue!"

Seconds later, two men came slamming through the door with a crash cart in tow, their shoes slapping loudly against the cold industrial tile. The cart came to a shrieking halt next to the gurney as Mair pulled harder on Bronwen’s arm, the flurry of activity increasing.

"Bag him! Now!"

"Charge!"

Bronwen began shaking her head, her eyes wide with fear. "No…oh, God no…please."

"Clear!"

Sam’s body arched up off the bed, beneath the paddles.

"Nothing! Again!"

"Charge!"

The high-pitched whine of the crash unit filled Bronwen’s ears as she was drug out of the room struggling. He looked so pale his lips blue in the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights, and beads of perspiration glimmering on his skin.

"Clear!"

The last thing she glimpsed was Sam’s body convulsing with the electrical charge and the sound of the doctor’s voice rising above the clatter.

"Nothing! Again!"

Please, she begged in silence, don’t let him die.


	5. Chapter 5

God wasn’t something Bronwen Ingley gave much thought too. She’d been raised in the Catholic faith until her mother’s death when she was nine. Afterward there had been very little talk of faith or the existence of God.

She remembered how the thing had entered the nursery. Whether it was seeking her, her little brother or her mother, she never knew. All she recalled was awaking in her trundle bed and seeing a dark shadow leaning over her brother’s crib. At the same time her mother had woke in the rocker next to her bed where she had fallen asleep reading Bronwen her favorite bedtime story ‘The Little Ballerina’.

To her it was only a shadow among many, but to her mother it was far more. Her mother had seen it before and she knew why it had been there. Grabbing Bronwen, she had pushed her out the door screaming for Bronwen’s father. The rest of the night had been a blur of screams, thick smoke, and flames.

Afterward she recalled the funeral. A glossy black coffin covered in huge Casablanca and Stargazer lilies, her mother’s favorite flowers, and all the people, some she’d never seen before. They were all dressed in somber colors and their gazes never left the coffin where what remained of her mother’s mortal body lay. She had glanced up at her father and watched as silent tears trembled on his lashes, and then fell, leaving glistening trails of moisture down his pale, unshaven face. She knew her mother was gone and she knew her father grieved, but she didn’t understand why God had thought it was time to take her mother. As she aged, the loss had burrowed deep inside her and hardened her heart. It had made her lose what little faith she possessed.

So she was a little surprised and confused when she found herself standing outside the hospital chapel. Mair had tried to get her to sit and rest, but she couldn’t because every time she closed her eyes she saw Sam’s face his lips tinged blue from lack of oxygen.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the chapel door inward and stepped into the cool darkness that waited within. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and sweet flowers, and an eerie stillness filled the room, one that sent shivers through her body. Walking up the aisle, she stopped at the altar, focusing on the rows of candles each one a prayer for a lost soul. Crossing herself quickly, she reached for a long match and lit a candle. The flame flickered, sputtered, and flared to life as she blew out the match and knelt down, elbows resting on the railing surrounding the alter scattered with brilliant wildflowers.

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name--"

As she began to pray to God, one she thought she’d long ago forsaken, her hands started to tremble.

 

***

 

"Sam?"

He felt as if he was floating in the darkness. It was the same feeling he’d experienced when Dean taught him to swim the summer he was five. He remembered Dean taking his hand and leading him into the shallows of the pool, water cool on his overheated skin in the mid-summer sun. He remembered the fear of the water and how calm Dean’s voice was as he lay back in the water, his brother’s left hand behind his head and right at the small of his back.

_Just relax Sammy…close your eyes and relax._

"Sam? Can you hear me Sam?"

He opened his eyes, the darkness retreating to be replaced by a hospital emergency room. Nurses, a doctor, and orderlies scurried about the room working on a patient. He tried to catch one of the nurses by calling out and ask her how he’d gotten there, but she didn’t seem to notice him.

"Sam?"

He turned to his left this time as he caught the voice, eyes wide with disbelief. This had to be a dream, he thought, he’d fallen asleep in Wen’s jeep and now he was dreaming. There was no other explanation for what he saw. She was dressed the same as she had been that night, a cream satin slip of a nightgown, hair a soft tangle of blonde waves around her shoulders. Smiling she stepped closer bare feet soundless on the tile floor.

Shaking his head, he backed away, throat tight as he whispered her name. "Jess? Oh, God this isn’t real--" his eyes filled with tears as she cupped his face in her palm.

"It is real." Her voice was the sweetest of concertos. "It’s as real as you want it to be, Sam." Her eyes held a hint of sadness. "For now."

"What do you mean--for now? Where am I?" His voice trembled as her hand slid down, and her fingers tangled with his. "This has to be a dream."

She looked up at him with wide eyes, filled with sparkling tears. "I don’t have much time, baby. Just come with me."

Following Jess, he swallowed back the tears that welled in the back of his throat, and prayed this dream would never end. Since the night she had died, he’d only had nightmares about her death--the flames, blood, and thick smoke. He’d prayed for a dream like this one, anything to erase the terrible memory of that night.

"Listen to me, Sam. You have to make a choice and it won’t be easy." That hint of sadness from her eyes had tainted her voice now.

"What choice? Why do I have to make a choice? This is my dream and I’m here with you and we can be happy this time." Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie.

She stepped aside to let him see the patient, the doctors and nurses were working on, and it felt as if every ounce of air had been forced from his lungs. He was looking straight down into his own face. His skin was pasty white, lips blue, a breathing tube had been pushed down into his throat, and a nurse was pumping the air bag in time with the doctor who was doing chest compressions. He could hear the faint echo of their voices surrounding him and Jess as he watched the frantic movements, and the faint hum of the monitor that was tracking his vitals.

_One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…breathe…_

_Anything?_

_Nothing, sir!_

_I need an adrenaline shot prepped!_

_One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…breathe…_

_Adrenaline!_

_Here!_

_Come on, son! Don’t you die on me! Do you hear me?_

_He’s just a kid. God, he isn’t much older than my daughter...is_

Sam shook his head, hands clamping over his ears. "This isn’t real…this isn’t real." Eyes wide, he watched as the doctor took the needle and inserted it into his chest. "God what’s happening?"

Gentle hands cupped his face, forcing him to look into Jess’ loving eyes. "You’re dying, Sam, from the visions. Your body wasn’t ready for them like it will be soon. You have a choice though to make. I love you, Sam…I always will, but you know what you have to do."

He turned back to the scene unfolding in front of him and shook his head, shaggy strands of hair falling in his face, hiding teary eyes. "I want to stay with you, Jess." He whispered. "This is where I need to be…"

Her fingers pressed to his lips before he could finish. "I know, baby, I do, but this isn’t where you need to be. Your brother needs you."

"Dean? Oh, God…Dean…"

"Hush…it’s okay." Jess smiled that sweet smile he’d fallen in love with as his heart began to break. "I’ll be waiting when it’s time, Sam. Just remember the answer is in the well."

"What answer? Jess, please, don’t leave." He pleaded as she stepped away, fingers slipping from his. "Please, Jess, I need you."

"I’ll always be with you, Sam."

Her voice faded as a brilliant light engulfed the room and Sam screamed. He screamed in anger, in desperation, and denial. He screamed for what he’d lost and for what was slipping through his fingers. His grief was raw with the pain of a thousand needles piercing his heart. Grief for everything that could have been and what might never be.

All he could do was scream, even as his lungs ached with the effort, he could hear Jess’ soft voice whispering in his ear.

_Always, Sam, I’ll always walk with you_

 

***

 

"…One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…breathe! Adrenaline!"

"Here!"

"Come on, son! Don’t you die on me! Do you hear me?" The doctor hissed through clenched teeth as he found the exact point between Sam’s ribs he needed.

"He’s just a kid. God, he isn’t much older than my daughter." One of the nurses mused as her hand stroked Sam’s hair back from icy skin.

The needle pierced Sam’s chest, tiny swell of blood standing out against his pale skin, as the doctor injected the adrenaline. "Come on, son…this is it."

As the adrenaline hit his heart, Sam’s back arched up off the mattress, eyes flying open, and he gasped for air.

"We have him! I need that oxygen going! BP?"

The nurse fitted the mask over Sam’s mouth and nose with steady hands as he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut once more. Her eyes flicked up at the monitor. "Looks good, sir. His respiration is evening out and his O2 SATs are increasing from the looks of it."

The doctor ran his fingers through salt and pepper hair. "Great, I want him under twenty-four hour watch in ICU. As soon as possible, we get him in to have a CAT scan and I want a full blood work up. I need to know what the hell happened in here. There isn’t any obvious reason that his two ‘friends’ gave that he should have gone into cardiac arrest. I’ll be at home, but I’m on call if anything changes. If that kid sneezes I want to fucking know--do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." The nurse gave him a curt nod and turned back to the other personnel, giving out instructions, and signing off on paperwork. Her gaze drifted to where the med assistants were carefully getting Sam changed into a hospital gown, busy hands making short work of his jacket and jeans. "Be careful boys. He’s had a rough half hour."

One of the assistants snorted. "He’s had a rough half hour? I thought Doc Weber was going to bust a vein."

"Well, Mair Hywels has that affect on people."

The MA started to laugh and then stopped. "Look at this."

The nurse crossed over to the table where Sam laid, chest rising and falling with ease considering moments before he was on the verge of death. The MA pulled back the edge of the gown, gaze drifting from the nurse to Sam’s bare hip.

"What the hell is that?" She leaned closer. "Oh my God…" she hissed.

"Bruises. Finger shaped bruises."

Swallowing hard, the nurse reached out smoothing the gown over Sam’s hip. "I’m going to call Doc Weber and Sheriff Baxter. You guys get his clothes bagged and tagged and call Denise down from the lab with a rape kit."

 

***

 

Dean woke from the darkness he’d slipped into after—

He shook himself from those thoughts clenching his eyes shut. If he didn’t think about it, he reasoned, then it hadn’t really happened had it? Gritting his teeth, he tried to move, but every inch of his body screamed in protest. He inhaled through his nose and bit his lip swallowing the scream of pain that swelled in his throat as he shifted on to his back. The mattress beneath him was harder than he remembered and the smell was--rotting earth.

Eye drifting open Dean realized he was no longer in the cabin. That is if he ever had been. It was dark, way too fucking dark for his taste and the smell of molding earth reminded him of too many of the graves he’d dug up. Rotting wood and human flesh filled the air making him gag. Blinking he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but it was hard to make out anything.

The steady sound of water dripping made his skin crawl along his body and the hair at the base of his neck prickle. Straining his ears, he tried to pick up any sign that there was anything else alive down here, wherever the hell, here was. He swallowed hard and tugged at the ropes that held his wrists tight above his head. Pushing back across the ground, his hips screaming with each movement, he tried to sit up. He ran his fingertips along the short length of rope to where it was bound tightly to something cold and heavy, an iron ring.

Where the hell was he, he wondered, as he clawed at the rope.

Suddenly he heard it, breathing, raw and animalistic coming from the darkness. He whipped his head around and hissed in pain as his hip shifted against the rough ground.

"Who’s there?" Dean called out as he tugged harder at his bonds.

_"Daniel…"_

"Shit." Dean sucked in a harsh breath as the sound of something moving through water reached his ears. "Please…shit…not again."

_"Daniel…"_

 

***

 

"You are not going to do this." Mair’s pale icy eyes narrowed.

Sheriff Baxter sighed. "Listen to me Mair and try to be reasonable. How long have we known each other?"

"What the hell has that got to do with anything Robert? That child has been through enough and the last thing he needs is you and those damn meddling doctors doing this." She inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "If you weren’t such a fool none of this would have happened."

Throwing his hands up in the air, he growled in frustration. "You have no rights in this Mair!" He snapped. "He isn’t your son. Hell you didn’t even know him until today."

Mair stepped closer, her arms folded, and her stance stiff. "No, he’s not my son, but he has rights."

"He’s unconscious for god’s sake! You brought him in here and now those ‘meddling’ doctors are going’ to do what they need, too." He ground his teeth. "There are signs that they are trained to notice in these cases. He has rope burns on his wrists, bruises on his hips, and he’s bleedin’. That boy in there was raped of that I have no doubt and if there’s some sick assed fuck in my town--"

"No, he wasn’t." Mair interrupted. "I know you don’t want to believe, but I also know you remember what happened in ’56."

"What the hell has ’56 got to do with that poor kid in there?" His snowy brows drew together as his voice lowered. "Those boys were a first time thing. Some drifter killed them and their bodies weren’t found until later."

"Sam’s different." She reached out taking Baxter’s hands in hers. "He’s a bit like me and he’s a might bit more powerful. That boy’s brother went missin’ in those woods Robert fifty years to the day the other boys did. He wasn’t raped…he was with me and Bronwen up at my house when he…" she lifted her gaze to Baxter’s, "…let’s just say he ain’t the one that was raped."

"Then what Mair." Baxter lowered his gaze to the floor.

"He’s connected to his brother on a primal level. Something far stronger than I’ve ever seen before. Those signs you’re talking’ about are a manifestation of that connection."

His head jerked up and eyes narrowed. "You saying’ his missin’ brother is the one that was…"

"Yeah. Now will you call this off?"

"What am I suppose to tell Doc Weber? He’s not going to back off and you damn well know that. If I tell him not to examine the boy he’ll fight me and then he’ll call in the state police."

Her eyes glimmered with something that Robert Baxter hadn’t seen in nearly forty years and she smiled. "Tell him to wait ‘til the boy wakes up. Respect his rights that much at least."

Baxter shook his head with a chuckle. "Only you Mair…only for you."

"I know Robert." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I’ll go get Bronwen. She’s down at the chapel prayin’ for that boy and his brother."

 

***

 

Bronwen sat next to Sam’s hospital bed for the second time in as many days, but this time it was different. This time he’d almost died. She scrubbed at her face letting Mair’s words to her in the chapel slowly play repeatedly in her head.

_"They think he was raped."_

_"You’re kidding--right? Sam was with us when those…oh, God those marks on his wrists."_

_"It’s more than that girl. They found bruises on his hips and he was bleedin’."_

She scrubbed harder at her face, trying to force the tears to retreat. From the moment, those words had reached her ears she’d felt sick, physically ill. Biting her lip, she lowered her arm and let her gaze settle on Sam’s pale face noting the dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Jesus Sam…" she whispered softly, "…what happened to your brother out there in the woods?" She lowered her hand, the tears finally welling over her lashes as she wrapped her fingers around his hand being careful of the IV line.

Sitting there, she tried to get the tears under control, but she couldn’t. Her life had been simple three days ago. Get up, go to work at the café, and spend most of her free time working on her art or going out with her friends. Despite what her family had been through, it had been a good life, a peaceful life. She was lost now and she could see no way of retrieving that life from the ruin it’d become.

She squeezed Sam’s hand and swallowed hard, lowering her forehead to rest it on their entwined fingers. "Sam…" she whispered softly, "…please just wake up. I can’t save him by myself, but I swear on all that is holy that we’ll find him."

 

***

 

He’d never admitted he was afraid of anything.

It was because of Sammy he’d built that tough exterior and the first bricks had been laid the night their mother had died. Their dad had tried to do the best by them that he could, but somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten they were just kids. Dean had decided that Sammy would be protected from the darkness that haunted their every step a long time ago. He even remembered the exact minute it had become a conscious decision for him.

He wasn’t sure what town they’d been in because they all seemed to run into one another as they roamed the roads. This one had been small and nice. A quiet place where nothing really happened so he’d sat in the passenger side of the truck dad had been driving at the time. Sammy had been six years old and he was already showing signs of the tall lanky body he had now. He was skinny as all hell though and he seemed to have a bottomless appetite. Dean had often gone without just so Sammy could eat his fill. There had been nights he’d went to bed, his stomach pinching with hunger, but it never mattered as long as his little brother was safe.

Sammy had been stretched out next to him on the bench seat of the old truck, shaggy hair hanging in his face, drawing a picture with the crayons the waitress had given him at the IHOP three towns back. He grinned and kicked his worn sneakers in a sharp rhythm against the dashboard watching his brother draw.

"So whatcha’ drawing dude?"

Snorting Sammy curled his arm around the crinkled paper. "Like you care butt munch."

Dean raised one brow and sighed. "Where did you hear that word? That’s not a nice word."

"Don’t know." Sammy glanced up with wide eyes.

"So? Drawing?" Dean leaned forward popping the glove box and finding his stash of bubble gum. He unwrapped one piece, popping it in his mouth and began to chew gaze never leaving Sammy’s bowed head. "If you show me I’ll give you a piece." He waggled the Ziploc bag.

Sammy gave Dean a cock-eyed look, then sat up thrusting the wrinkled paper at his brother. "It’s the monster in the woods." He whispered.

Taking the picture from his brother’s grubby little fist Dean studied it with narrow eyes. It was a tall black, crudely drawn stick figure with bright green eyes and next to it was a tiny black hole. A wobbly line was drawn beneath the figure and from what Dean could tell the hole was in ground. Beneath the line was pile of what looked like sticks and rocks with holes in them.

"What’s this?" Dean poked at the black hole and then at the sticks.

"That’s his cave where he keeps his bones." Sammy looked at him with a resolve that was far too old for a six-year old. "Dean he wants to take you away and I’m scared." His tiny lip pushed out in a pout, tears glittering in his eyes. "Promise me you won’t go with him, Dean."

"Hey," Dean shoved the picture in his coat pocket and pulled his brother close. "Don’t you worry, Sammy. No damned monster will ever take me away from you. Remember we kill the monsters."

Sammy sniffled and swiped the tears from his face. "Promise?"

"I promise."

 

***

 

Dean looked up into those eerie green eyes above him and he choked back a sob as that memory rose to the surface. All those years ago, Sam had known, he’d seen what was going to happen in a dream, and Dean had never known. Had their father known then that Sam could see things, he wondered?

"No…" Dean whispered through tight, dry lips, "…I promised him."

He could feel hands grab him although he could see nothing, but those burning green eyes.

_Promised me_

He struggled, but he was tired and he hurt everywhere. One cold icy hand wrapped in his hair and tightened causing him to cry out in pain.

_Sinner_

"No…God no." Dean choked out as his abused body was twisted forcing him face down in the mud. "Please…" he felt his shoulder pop and screamed in pain.

He screamed again, back bowing as the thing penetrated him, clawed fingers digging into his hips. He could hear its breath above him, harsh and panting, each breath was like ice against his naked back. His head was yanked back and he whimpered as the breath eased across his ear in a putrid hiss.

 _Sammy_ _can’t save you…_

Tears welled in Dean’s eyes as he whimpered in pain.

_Sinners are always mine…_

 

***

 

How long she sat she didn’t know, but as her eyes began to drift shut, Sam’s fingers tightened around hers. Lifting her head her eyes widened as she saw his eyelids flutter.

"Sam?" Bronwen’s throat tightened.

He squeezed her hand as a tear rolled from beneath his lashes and down into his hair.

"Sam, open your eyes and look at me."

Slowly his eyes opened and he whispered something she couldn’t quite hear. His free hand lifted slapping at the oxygen mask over his face weakly. Squeezing his hand, she pulled the mask back and Sam sucked in a ragged breath, his eyes pleading. Bronwen leaned in stroking his cheek.

"What is it?"

"Dean…" his voice sounded raw and rough like sandpaper, "…beneath…in the well."

Her brows rose. "A well?"

Sam nodded weakly. "Help me find the well." He tried to sit up and the effort was almost too much.

"Hey…hey." She gently pushed him back onto the pillows. "Sam you have to rest."

"No time." He gritted out between clenched teeth. "It has him…it’s hurting him." His eyes filled with tears. "Can feel what it’s doing to him. Thinks he’s a sinner. You have to help me get out of here."

Bronwen bit her lip staring into his wide, exhausted eyes. "Okay." She pulled out her cell and dialed a number. "Yeah, it’s me. He’s awake. Yeah. Meet me in twenty minutes behind the hospital. I know Mair…" she clicked off the phone and turned back to where Sam was trying to pull the IV out of his arm. "Hey, slick...careful there." She folded her hands over his and felt the tremors. "Leave that."

"Won’t be the first time I escaped from a hospital you know." Sam wheezed out as he swung his legs from beneath the blanket. "Clothes?"

"Sorry their evidence."

"Evidence?" Sam shoulders slumped.

"Long story. I’ll be right back with a wheelchair just wait--okay?"

"Okay." Sam sighed.

As soon as Bronwen left, he allowed his head to fall against his knees and began to sob. "Dean…I’m sorry…so fucking sorry." His shoulders shook as he ran his fingers through his tangled hair and he tried to breathe through the pain that seeped into his bones.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He looked up at Bronwen and offered her a weak smile. "I’ll be okay when we find Dean."

She helped him up and to the wheelchair, transferring the IV bag to the pole on the wheelchair. Peeling the leads off his chest, she smiled and grabbed the blankets from the bed, tucking them around his bare legs. "Come on. Let’s blow this popsicle stand."


	6. Chapter 6

The ease and swiftness of their escape from the hospital surprised Sam considering he’d been in ICU. He imagined  small town hospitals were a far cry from the hospitals of places like LA, New York, or even Chicago. Mair had met them at the rear entrance in exactly twenty minutes and the two women helped him into the back of Mair’s old rusted Chevy with an equally rusty camper shell. She’d put an air mattress in the bed of the truck and layered it with blankets and an old patchwork quilt, which he was grateful for on so many levels he’d never be able to say thank you.

Even as stubborn as Dean was about being ill or hurt, Sam could be just as stubborn at times and he hated the fact  he could barely stand much less haul his lanky six foot three inch frame into the back of the truck. Not to mention he wasn’t particularly fond of hospital gowns and for some reason he was sans his boxers. Getting in the back of the truck with any grace or dignity had gone the way of the dinosaurs. He had to be thankful  both Mair and Bronwen had understood his embarrassment and neither made an issue of it. On the other hand, he was ashamed of himself.

Lying curled on his side, swaddled in the blankets and quilt, Bronwen watching over him, he tried to understand how he could think about stupid shit like this when Dean was somewhere out there being hurt by something he didn’t understand. Had Dean been right in the beginning to think he was being selfish? He’d never thought much about it until now. To be honest he’d not been easy to get along with once he hit fourteen. He’d hated everything and he’d wanted to escape and lead a normal life. When Dean had shown up, at the apartment he shared with Jess, he’d been furious, but as usual had charmed him into a short trip and promised he’d be back in time for that interview on Monday. Dean had kept his promise, but he’d seen the hope fade from his brother’s eyes when he realized  Sam had been serious about the whole law school thing.

Less than twenty-four hours later he was riding shotgun in the Impala and was being consumed by the same need for vengeance that had eaten away their father like acid to bone. He’d lost everything or at least that’s what he’d told himself--he’d also told himself it was Dean’s fault. If only Dean hadn’t come to Stanford asking for help to track down their wayward father Jess would still be alive.

Tears welled in his eyes, his vision blurring with exhaustion and the Demerol  they’d been feeding him through the IV. He swallowed hard trying to force back the guilt of all these months riding next to Dean and always harboring those feelings. It wasn’t Dean’s fault  Jess had died that night nor was it his. On some subconscious level, he’d realized whether Dean had come to Stanford or not the thing that killed Jess would have found him. Dean was all he had though and he was determined to find his brother and bring him home.

"You okay?"

Bronwen’s voice was soft and edged with concern not to mention a healthy dose of fear and he couldn’t blame her. He was terrified himself. Terrified  he would lose his brother and never find his father. Then what would be left?

"Yeah…" he gritted out throat cotton stuffed and coated with glass, "just tired."

She’d studied his face for a few seconds in the dim light of the enclosed truck bed as they rattled along on shock absorbers next to non-existent. "I have the keys to the Impala." She whispered softly. "Mair’s going to drop me off and then take you up to her place."

Sam sighed. "You know Dean’s going to kick my ass for letting a girl drive his baby."

A soft chuckle reached his ears as he burrowed deeper into the blankets trying to stave off the cold that had clung to his skin since Dean had vanished. Bronwen’s fingertips ghosted across his sweat-dampened forehead as he let his eyes finally drift shut. He heard her next words through the faint fog of descending sleep and he couldn’t help the tiny smile that twitched the corner of his cracked dry lips.

"It’ll be our little secret. Dean doesn’t have to know."

As he drifted away on the wake of the Sandman he knew without a doubt she would help him bring Dean home or die trying. That made the heaviness in his chest just a bit lighter.

 

***

 

Bronwen gave Sam’s cheek a final caress as the truck came to a halt and Mair slid the back window open. She glanced up into Mair’s pale eyes and nodded. Careful not to wake Sam she crept from the back of the truck and closed the tailgate. He looked so small and helpless, she thought as the metal and frosted glass cut off her view, wrapped in all those quilts, but she knew better. At least that’s what she told herself as she walked around to the driver’s side. Mair cranked down the window and smiled an understanding smile that did nothing to ease the twisting in her gut.

"Is he sleeping?"

She nodded shoving her hands deep into her jacket pockets fingers curling around Sam’s key ring. Her head lifted eyes focused on the cold light of the stars and sighed. "Do you think  we’ll find him?"

Mair hummed thoughtfully and let her gaze drift to Bronwen. "For that boy’s sake in the back we’d better." Her eyes took on an unfocused glaze as her thoughts drifted. "Hunters come in pairs and without one the other loses something’. Just like with your mama and your daddy."

Shifting her gaze back to the older woman’s face, she frowned. "What do you mean?"

The creases around Mair’s eyes seemed to deepen for a few seconds showing every one of Mair’s sixty-five years as she spoke. "Your mama when she came here was lost without her other half. Dancing on the edge of a cliff, she surely would have fallen from and then she met your daddy. You see child hunters don’t always come from the same bloodline like these boys…matter of fact what these boys have is rare. Your mama and daddy recognized each other at first glance and it was then their fate was sealed. When Sarah died, your daddy lost his soul mate and something in him died with her. Now he’s dancing on the edge of that same cliff. He refused to accept his true calling and he stayed here helping me guard that place, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of the demon who took your mama."

Bronwen swallowed hard, knowing in her heart  what Mair said was true. Her father had changed after her mother had died. He seemed to have hardened and that was part of the reason her brother had fled Abington as soon as he’d turned eighteen. She hadn’t seen him in nearly two years and her heart ached.

"Listen to me child cause I know you’re heart far better than you think. Don't let yourself fall down that path won’t do neither of you any good. That boy won’t leave his brother ever."

"I don’t know what you mean." She whispered her gaze drifting back to the night sky.

"I think you do." Compassion and a knowing no simple human woman should possess edged Mair’s voice. "Love is an odd thing. Sometimes it is meant to be and then there are things far stronger. Things far more primal than any of us can understand." She cleared her throat and turned to study Bronwen’s profile surrounded by a halo of silver starlight. "You are his guardian angel sweetie, but he can never love you like you want."

Shifting gears, Mair backed the truck out of the parking lot and roared off into the night leaving Bronwen to contemplate her words. She stood for a moment her gaze still focused on the stars and then she turned to the Impala, tugging the keys from her pocket, her face damp with tears she hadn’t realized that she’d wept.

 

***

 

Dean woke to an agonizing pain that made him want death so bad, but it was like an elusive dream just out of his grasp. He remembered very little other than the pain and he tried to focus on the here and now. Demon or ghost he had no idea what the thing was that had pulled him into this terrifying existence, but he did know one thing. He knew he’d felt Sammy, a ghost of a presence whispering his ear, since he’d been huddled in that snowy graveyard or whatever it had been. The cabin, the storm, James, and Tristan, were all illusions created by the one thing that was true--those eerie inhuman eyes.

A shiver traveled down his bruised spine as he rolled onto his side, his arms numb from the binding that had held them in their present position--how long? It seemed days or maybe weeks since he’d seen the sunlight and he wanted to weep with the loss of everything he’d taken for granted. He’d been a damned fool to keep secrets from his brother and he’d just gotten Sammy back. After four years of missing the only thing that he’d ever cared about, he’d fucked it up.

Suck it up soldier. That’s what their father would have told him. Use the anger, the pain, and turn it into your strength.

Closing his eyes against the ever-present darkness, Dean inhaled a deep breath through his nose, and the stench of death filled his senses. This place was a grave, he thought, the scent was far more familiar than he would have liked to admit, but it was true. The last thing he wanted was for this dank place to be his grave.

Teeth clenched he began yanking at the ropes that held his arms tightly bound to the slick wall. "Ain’t going to let you have me," he hissed, "better than that." He could feel his skin shredding beneath the rough hemp and the first warm drops of blood, as they were rubbed raw by the friction. "Sammy, if you can hear me I’m here…I’m still here."

 

***

 

"Someone is going to pay for this!" Doctor Weber paced the length of the hospital room his usually kind grey eyes filled with a fury that rivaled any storm. "All I asked is that you stupid fools keep an eye on the boy. Is that so much to ask from supposed professionals?"

The head nurse flinched and took a deep breath. "He was sleeping and it was shift change." She scuttled out of the room, ducking around the sheriff, her clipboard clutched to her chest.

Weber growled deep in his throat and turned to face Baxter who stood in the door to the room, one hand scratching his jaw as he studied the pinholes in the ceiling tile. A half-smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he counted the pinholes feeling Weber’s narrowed gaze drill through his skull.

"What the god damn hell is so fuckin’ funny, Robert?"

Baxter turned his gaze to Weber and shrugged. "Maybe the boy got scared. After all, you wouldn’t let go of the idea of putting him through a rape exam. Maybe he woke up, found out what you thought you were going to do, and ran like a terrified deer."

Stepping closer until he was nearly toe-to-toe with Baxter, Weber snorted. "That ain’t you talking, Robert. It’s that damn meddling witch Mair Hywels. When are you going to quit being so damned pussy…"

Eyes narrowing Baxter sucked in a deep breath. "Finish that sentence Jamie Weber and I swear to God by all that is holy I will drag your ass into lock-up for being drunk and disorderly. Wonder what the AMA would think of that?"

Weber backed up and his eyes widened. "You wouldn’t dare?"

"Try me." Baxter’s lips curled into an amused smirk. "You never did change. Even after all your high-class education you’re still a little man playin’ dress up in his daddy’s closet. When are you goin’ to learn your ‘holy’ science can’t explain every fuckin’ thing in this world? Especially in this town."

Weber swallowed hard and let out a snort. "Legends, myths, and superstitions are all those are. There aren’t ghosts in those woods and there is sure and the hell no slips in time. Only old fools like you and Mair believe that sort of shit."

"That so?" Baxter raised one brow. "Why don’t you go talk to your mama Jamie. Ask her what happened to your great grand daddy down in the woods?"

All the color drained from Weber’s face and he turned on his heel pushing past Baxter. "Like I said superstitions." He growled as he stormed down the hall.

"Yeah, I suppose so." Baxter shook his head with a chuckle. "That’s why you’re goin’ to change your pants. I can smell someone pissin’ themselves a mile away!" He yelled after Weber’s retreating backside.

 

***

 

Half an hour after Mair had left her at the café parking lot Bronwen pulled into the driveway of the stone cottage. Shutting down the engine of the Impala, she grinned for a moment. She could understand why Sam’s brother was so protective of the car. She purred like a kitten and Bronwen imagined it was due in part to Dean himself. She recalled that first day (had it only been three days?) the brothers had came into the café.

She was an artist so she had the habit of studying people, but she’d gotten it down to a fine art. Few people ever noticed her casual study of them--the way they moved or the tiny things like the creases around their eyes. She’d studied both the brothers and in her eyes, there could have been no two people less alike. Sam had the graceful hands of an intellectual. Sure, he had some rough patches of skin, but he spoke with his hands. Dean on the other hand had the hands of an artist. He worked with them and she’d noted the oil staining the skin beneath his nails and the calluses. They were the hands of a man who did hard work.

With a sigh, she pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of the car, popping the trunk, and retrieving Sam’s duffel bag. She hated the idea  Mair had seen through her so easily. She wasn’t the kind of woman who gave her heart easily, she never had, but Sam was different. Over the past few days, she’d seen him suffer things  she knew would kill a lesser man, but he’d survived. Another sigh escaped her lips as she headed up the path, the duffel over her shoulder, and tried to push back the emotions that seemed to have a mind of their own.

She refused to fall down that path. Mair was right, nothing but grief lay that way and she’d had her fill of grief for one lifetime.

 

***

 

Mair glanced up over the top of her reading glasses as the front door opened and Bronwen trudged in, duffel over her arm, and kicked the door shut behind her. "I see you got here in one piece. Everythin’ all right?"

Bright green eyes lifted to gaze at her, a whirlwind of emotions in their sparkling depths. "Where’s Sam?"

Returning to her reading Mair motioned her head to the left. "Settled him in the spare room…last door on the right. He might not hear you knock, he wanted to take a shower, so go drop the bag on the bed."

Bronwen frowned. "You left him alone?"

"He’s a grown man child." Mair’s silvery blue gaze lifted once more from the volume she was scanning. "He needed some space and some time."

Shaking her head, Bronwen turned without a word and headed down the hall. When she reached the door, she lifted her hand and knocked gently. "Sam?"

When there was no answer, she opened the door and stepped into the cozy room, taking in the iron bed with its patchwork quilt, and the thick woven rug covering a good portion of the hardwood floor. Heavy drapes covered a window facing south and a fire burned bright in the stone fireplace giving everything a soft golden glow. To her left was a door  she assumed was the bathroom. She could hear water running and tiny tendrils of steam escaped around the edges of the wood.

Walking around the bed, she dropped Sam’s bag on the heavy oak dresser in the southwestern corner of the room, and then walked back to the window. Parting the drapes, she stared out into the darkness lost in thoughts that had haunted her since Sam had fallen to his knees the afternoon before in the dust and gravel. Thoughts that had been spinning wildly out of control since she’d watched him helplessly convulse in Mair’s strong arms while he cried out for his brother. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear the door of the bathroom open until he finally spoke. His voice was rough with pain and exhaustion and her heart nearly shattered when she turned at his soft whisper.

"Wen?"

Sam stood just outside of the bathroom door, tendrils of steam from the shower curling around his bare ankles and rising off his overheated skin. She blinked back the tears that began to form at the edge of her vision as she saw for the first time the damage done to Sam’s physical body. He was lean, almost wiry, but it was all muscle and his chest was covered with a patchwork of bruises that reminded her of the last breath of twilight as night closed in--blues, purples, and just tiny hints of angry red and faded yellow.

She sucked in a deep breath through teeth clenched in anger and frustration over the fact  someone as beautiful as Sam had been damaged by the darkness. "Oh, God…Sam." Her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, soft sway of the towel low on his hips doing nothing to hide the dark finger shaped bruises curled in a crescent along the sharp jut of his hipbones. Nor did it hide the faint trail of bruises disappearing beneath its edge that dipped below his navel. He stood silent watching her through wide eyes for the span of a few short breaths and then his cheeks flushed pink as he headed to the dresser.

As she watched him move, she could see the pain he felt as clear as she could see the room around her bathed in firelight. He turned his back to her, digging through the bag for clothes, as her gaze settled on his bare back, tiny trails of moisture trailing down from where his wet tangled hair covered his neck her throat tightened. Her gaze followed one of those trails and she saw what looked like bite marks on his shoulder blades and red welts down his slender back where invisible nails had dug into his smooth skin.

"Oh, my God…" she whispered again walking toward him.

Sam leaned forward on his palms, bracing himself against the dresser as his vision blurred with pain. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see his body and he hadn’t thought Bronwen would be here yet. "I’m okay." He choked out.

"No…you’re not." Bronwen’s voice was soft and fluttered across his skin like the faint brush of butterfly wings.

He sucked a painful breath into his suddenly too small lungs. "I deserve this."

Her arms encircled his waist and she gently turned him around. Her bright eyes sparkling in the firelight. "No one deserves this. How could you say that?"

Sam’s mouth opened as he tried to speak, but the words refused to come. His shoulders slumped as she pulled him closer, her head resting against his chest as if she were listening to his heartbeat. He closed his eyes his chin resting in her soft thick hair and the tears he’d been trying to hold at bay began to seep from beneath his lashes.

"I blamed him." Sam whispered softly. "All this time I blamed him for my…" he swallowed hard trying to pull away from Bronwen’s embrace.

She glanced up at him and smiled sadly. "For what? Whatever it is I don’t think it deserves a punishment this harsh. Jesus, Sam you look like you’ve been beaten within an inch of your life. No matter what you blamed him for it can’t be this bad."

He pulled away and grabbed the sweats and tee shirt he pulled out of his bag. "You don’t know what it’s been like for us. I owe Dean better than what I’ve done." Moving across the room, he turned his back again, pulling the sweats on beneath the towel and letting the towel drop to the floor. "I’ve spent most of my life doing things  most people relegate to nightmares and Hollywood movies." He turned his face flushed. "Dean was always there for me…he was my brother, but he was so much more. After all, he did for me; I turned my back on him and my dad. I left them to fight the darkness by themselves and when Dean needed me to come back all I gave him was crap. Then Jess died and…"

"Jess?" Bronwen flashed him a questioning look.

"Jessica and I were…we were living together at Stanford where we were both attending college. She was killed by the same thing that killed my mom and yours." He looked up at her with dark teary eyes. "I blamed Dean for her death…all these months and I never said anything." Sam turned away again staring into the flickering fire.

"Why did you blame him?"

That was a good question, Sam thought. "I suppose because she died after Dean showed up. I thought I’d put it all behind me. I was living the dream…you know…and then he shows up after four years asking me to help find dad."

"There’s more isn’t there?" Bronwen stepped closer, her hand resting on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam turned back again and saw a look in Bronwen’s eyes  reminded him of what he saw in the mirror every time he looked. There was a pain, a loss so ingrained there  only a fool would miss it, and there were a great number of fools in this world.

"The night before Dean showed up…" Sam’s voice was strung tight as he spoke, kneeling in front of the fire, the pain obvious, "…I ask Jess to marry me and she said yes."

Kneeling next to Sam, she grabbed the poker and pushed it into the flames, watching them lick along the heavy iron, thousands of tiny demonic tongues, and then she cleared her throat. "I’m so sorry Sam."

He turned towards her, his hands resting on his thighs, the tee shirt still clutched in his fingers, and sighed softly. "Now do you understand why I deserve this?"

Bronwen drew herself to her feet and held out her hand to Sam. "You still don’t deserve this pain, Sam, but it’s your burden to bear." She pulled him to his feet and guided him to the bed. "We all have our burdens to bear Sam Winchester. Now get some rest and we can get started first thing in the morning." She walked to the door and paused wondering if she was as big of a fool as she thought. "Sweet dreams Sam." She whispered as she closed the door behind her.

 

***

 

The last threads of Dean’s strength were stretched to the breaking point. So when he felt the rope snap it took a moment for him to realize what had happened. His arms landed on the cold hard ground with a dull thump and when he tried to move them, pin and needles of pain pierced every inch of his skin. Grunting he gritted his teeth against the pain and repeated his father’s mantra in a soft whisper.

"Suck it up soldier...the anger, the pain…turn it into your strength." Finally, he got his arms up and over so  his still bound wrists lay on his stomach. A grin twitched at the corner of his bruised mouth and he sighed. "Take that you fucking prick. A Winchester never just lies down and takes it." He lay there for a moment, trying to catch his breath through the burning of cracked ribs, then spoke out again at the darkness. "Had to tie my ass up to get what you wanted--didn’t you?"

There was no answer other than the slow drip-drip of water along the cavern walls not that he had expected one. Whatever the thing was it came and went, but thankfully, for the moment it was gone. Trying not to think of anything, but escaping the rotting cesspool of a prison he was in he pushed himself to his knees ignoring the pain in his abused muscles.

What he wouldn’t do for his beloved Zippo right now, he thought as he crawled across the rocky ground. He hadn’t really smoked since he had been eighteen, but he'd held on to the lighter. Sammy had asked him why he carried it and he’d chuckled at the time. If Sammy realized  he still sometimes lit up, especially in the bars, he’d never hear the end of it. After all smoking was bad for your health. Never mind the demons, ghosts, and other assorted freaking monsters they hunted because one little occasional Marlboro would do him in.

Considering what he’d already been through the sharp rocks digging into his palms and tearing his skin went unnoticed. What were a few scratches, he thought, compared to your ass being torn up by a horny demon? A hysterical giggle escaped Dean as he continued crawling through the darkness. Trying to calm himself down Dean began babbling aloud, bound hands feeling along the mud-slicked ground.

"First thing I’m doing when I get out of here is smack Sam in the back of the head. Do you hear that, Sammy? What possessed you to let me go chasing spooks out in the woods? I mean Christ Sammy--what happened to kicking my ass if I was being a stubborn prick? Yeah, sure I could kick your ass harder, but the least you could be doing is helping me out here."

Tears began welling in his eyes and trickling down his bruised and bloody face, leaving tracks in the dirt. This wasn’t getting him anywhere, he thought. For all he knew he was crawling in a circle, considering how fucking dark it was in this shit pit. Just as he began giggling, again, his hands hit the edge of what seemed to be a hole and he almost panicked before he realized  he felt the brush of water against his numb fingers.

"Oh, God…" he moaned in relief as he knelt up and cupped his hands, dipping them in the water.

It was cold as ice and he could feel the liquid bubbling and swirling around his fingers. A spring, he thought, he’d found the source of Mashomoquet Brook. He lifted trembling hands to his lips and took a deep drink of the water. A moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips as the cold, earthy liquid washed down his dry throat. At least he had water and water was the most important thing now. He’d felt like he’d been dying of thirst for the longest time. Dipping trembling hands into the water he scooped more up and swallowed relishing the earthy taste.

"Shit…feels good." Dean mumbled.

From the thick darkness a pair of eyes watched, the eerie lecherous green gaze moving down Dean’s naked back and the curve of his ass. A cruel mouth curled in a smile as it backed into the shadows vanishing from sight once more.

_He’s mine now…Sinners always are…_

 

***

 

_He’s mine now…Sinners always are…_

Sam moaned in his sleep as images flitted through his mind the voice as clear as if it were being whispered in his ear. "No…" Sam mumbled, beads of perspiration glistening on his skin, "…can’t have him."

_But, he’s so beautiful…exquisite in his suffering…_

Another moan slipped from Sam’s part lips as he panted softly.

_Just like Daniel…perfect and seductive…a demon of lust, one that clouds the minds of women and men…_

"No…" Sam flopped over on his side and then on his back again, clawing at the sheets.

_You brought him back to me little hunter…_

"Never…bring him to you."

The bedroom door creaked open, Bronwen stood in the shadows watching Sam toss and turn, the sheets tangled around his long legs, and the quilt lay in a crumpled pile at the foot of the bed. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, she glanced down at the glowing digits of her watch.

Three a.m.--the witching hour.

Carefully she made her way to the bed on silent bare feet and reached out turning on the bedside lamp. Her gaze settled on Sam’s pale face as she sat on the edge of mattress, her hand reaching out to caress his clenched jaw. Deep creases of pain stood out around his eyes and along his scrunched brow as he mumbled softly.

"Didn’t bring him to you. Wouldn’t hurt him--"

"Sam," Bronwen whispered as she stroked his tangled hair from his sweat-slicked face. "Sam can you hear me?"

_Yes, you would little hunter…always hated him…_

Sam began to tremble as an image of his brother formed in his mind. It was so fucking dark and then there was the cold, bone numbing cold. Dean was curled up on the rough stony ground, his head resting on his bound wrists. "Dean?" He breathed out in his sleep.

A sudden chill filled the warm room and Bronwen shuddered with the cold as she desperately shook Sam’s shoulder. Something was here, she thought, something of this world and the next. "Sam! Wake up Sam!"

Exhaling she saw her breath appear as Sam’s had in the hospital room after Dean had vanished. No matter how hard she shook him Sam seemed trapped in the dream or whatever it was. Her pulse was pounding in her ears as she continued shaking him. She could feel it in the room, not physically, but it was there.

Sam moaned softly and his eyes fluttered.

_He is mine to punish forever now…_

That time Bronwen heard the soft whisper and she jumped up turning in a circle, searching the shadowed corners of the room. "Let him go…" she hissed, "…I won’t let you have him or his brother!"

Cold laughter echoed through the silent room as Sam began thrashing against the mattress, soft whimpers rippling from his throat.

_You can hear me. What a surprise…witch…_

"I’m not a witch!" Bronwen hissed her pulse racing.

_Is that so? Ask the one whom guards…_

Outside the room, Bronwen could here Mair’s door open and soft footsteps. "Mair!" Bronwen screamed. "It’s here!"

_She knows the truth…she knows what he is…_

Hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway as a cold gust of wind swirled around the room. Bronwen caught a glimpse of Mair before the door slammed shut. Jumping on the bed, she pulled Sam into her arms, stroking his face as he whimpered softly in his sleep. Her bright green eyes began to shimmer as she spoke aloud, her breath a cloud of frosty mist.

"Leave him spirit," she hissed, "you have no claim on him nor his brother."

_Back off witch, you’ll never save them…_

Bronwen felt warmth infuse her body, starting in her chest, and spreading out along her legs and arms. She’d never felt anything like it before, but she knew it felt right and she tightened her grip on Sam’s trembling body. She felt the heat rise around them and she opened her mouth words tumbling forth in a voice that was hers and not hers.

"Bedd Ann ap lleian ymnewais fynydd…lluagor llew Ymrais…Prif ddewin Merddin Embrais!" Her voice rose as the warmth swirled around the bed and began to push outward.

_Do you believe calling him will do you any good witch…?_

For a split second, Bronwen could have sworn she saw a misty form glimmer in the waves of heat. A robed figure with long hair, arms spread wide, and then it faded from sight as the thing screamed in anger.

_You cannot save him save him…_

The words echoed in her skull, as the heat pulled back into her body. It slammed into her as if it were a giant rubber band snapping and she gasp as she hit the mattress Sam still clutched in her arms. For a second the entire room seemed to spin and she clenched her eyes shut tightly, forcing her stomach to calm.

"Wen?"

She opened her eyes and met Sam’s sleepy gaze as he shifted in her arms. A laugh bubbled up in her throat as Sam tried to rub the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands and he gave her a quizzical look.

"Uh…why are you in my bed?" He frowned as she just shook her head the laughter turning into a hysterical giggle. "I was having a nightmare…I was in this cave and--"

His eyes went wide as he sat up. "It wasn’t a dream was it?"

Bronwen took a deep breath. "More of a nightmare."

The bedroom door slowly creaked open and Mair stood there, a grim expression. "You are the one." She whispered softly.

"Me?" Sam squeaked out.

"No…" Bronwen whispered softly, "…she’s talking to me."

Mair nodded and turned away leaving Bronwen and Sam alone in the middle of the bed both of them confused and terrified. Sam turned to Bronwen a curious light flickering in his eyes.

"What did she mean?"

Picking at the tangled sheets, Bronwen sighed softly. "Mair is getting old and…" she swallowed the lump in her throat as Sam pulled her into his arms.

"It’s okay." He whispered.

"No…it’s not. Not anymore, not ever again."

As Sam began to rock her in his arms, pushing back the vivid images of Dean and the icy voice he’d heard, the wall clock chimed the hour. Both of them glanced up their gazes settling on the clock.

Four am--the witching hour had ended.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam woke to the sound of muffled voices and the distinct impression things were changing. Whether that was for the better or not was yet to be seen. Of course knowing his luck as of late it would be for the worse.

Pale morning light seeped between the heavy drapes and caused the hardwood floor to glow soft amber and outside he could hear the sound the birds singing softly. He blinked a few times and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands trying to wipe away the grit of sleep. Levering himself up he tossed the covers to the side and sat up on edge of the mattress staring into the smoking embers of the fire. Slowly the events of the previous night came back to him and he groaned as he dragged himself to his feet.

Dean was still missing and he was in Mair Hywels home. On top of that, he’d bared his soul to Bronwen Ingley something he’d never done before with anyone--not even Jess. It seemed both he and Dean were cursed always to be touched by the unnatural darkness skirting the edge of the world. At least the world most people accepted. He recalled a nightmare last night--or was it early this morning--and Bronwen had been in his bed for some reason. Jesus, he thought, his head was beginning to pound trying to sort everything out, and that was never good. He couldn’t afford to get sick no matter what. Dean needed him and whatever was happening with him could be shoved on the back burner until he had his brother back safe and with him.

Trudging to the dresser, he pulled out a pair of worn jeans and changed from the sweats he’d worn to bed the night before. He’d taken a shower last night, but he still didn’t feel clean, he didn’t think he ever would. Running a shaking hand through his hair, he sighed and then dug back into his bag for socks and went to the bathroom to retrieve his boots.

 

***

 

"Something’s not right about this." Bronwen ran her fingers through her tangled hair her hand slipping down to her shoulder to adjust the strap of the white wife beater she was wearing. Pulling her legs up, she rested the heels of her feet on the edge of the chair and nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully as she flipped through the volume she’d been scanning for the better part of an hour.

Mair raised one snowy brow and chuckled. "Maybe you should have gotten more sleep. I doubt Sammy would have minded if you’d stayed."

Frowning Bronwen lifted her attention from the page she’d been focused on. "That’s not funny."

"Wasn’t meant to be child, he could use all the comfort he could get right now." Mair sat a mug of coffee on the table in front of Bronwen settling in the neighboring chair to sip her own.

"What happened to the entire ‘don’t fall down that path’ conversation?" Bronwen’s bare feet slide to the floor as she sat the book aside. "Especially after last night…" she picked up the steaming mug, staring into its swirling depths as if the answers to all her questions were hidden there.

"Didn’t say not to fuck him."

Bronwen’s eyes widened as her head jerked up. "Mair! Damn it, don’t be vulgar!"

"Ain’t anything vulgar about sex. What I told you was not to hope for somethin’ you weren’t goin’ to find." Mair snorted. "Now you know why."

Standing Bronwen shoved her chair back with a clatter. "Know? Know?" Her voice rose in a mix of fear and anger. "What I know is I did something last night in that room and I have no idea what the fuck it was! I’m not a witch!" She began pacing the room. "I heard Tristan! I heard his voice and I knew he had Sam under his thrall or whatever the hell you call it and then there were words coming out of me that--"

"You called Merlyn." Mair interrupted, voice soft and no hint of confusion in her eyes. "You called him to protect Sam and to force Tristan back into darkness."

Bronwen opened her mouth to reply when a sharp knock echoed through the house.

"That would be Robert." Mair stood and headed for the great room.

"You called Sheriff Baxter? Why the hell did you do that?" Face flushed with anger she shadowed Mair into the other room. "If he’d done his job when this first--"

Mair turned on her heels. "If it weren’t for Robert that boy in there would still be in the hospital being poked and prodded by that damn fool Weber! Gods know he’d be strapped down in the psyche ward and sedated to the point he couldn’t fight off that fuckin’ spirit. So I would think closely about the next words comin’ out of that mouth missy."

Turning away, shoulders stiff, Mair opened the door. "Mornin’, Robert." She stepped aside and waved Sheriff Baxter into the house. "I see you brought what I asked you to.

Baxter raised a brow at Mair and then glanced at Bronwen. "I interrupt something?" He dropped the heavy canvas bag to the floor.

"No." Bronwen sighed.

"I doubt that, Miss Wen." He chuckled. "So how’s the Winchester boy doin’?"

"I’m doing fine, Sheriff Baxter." Sam entered the room stretching his back. "So what’s in the bag?"

"Spelunking equipment," Baxter shrugged off his jacket draping it on the coat rack. "Figure Mair has her reasons wantin’ it. Done any climbin’ son?"

Sam grinned, face lighting up for the first time since Bronwen had seen him that first day in the café. "You’d be surprised what I’ve done."

"Somehow I doubt that, son." Baxter chuckled again. "I think some coffee and pastry is in order." He glanced back at Mair with a soft smile. "I’m not mistaken am I in thinkin’ that’s your infamous butter crumb coffee cake I smell?"

Mair shook her head smile wide, "Not at all. Now come on boys. You look like you could use a meal. Especially you, Sam, you were a mite too damn skinny before now you’re just wastin’ away." She wrapped her arms around Sam and Robert guiding them out of the room and back to the kitchen.

Glancing over his shoulder with a frown Sam called back, "Wen? You coming?" he knew he should be focused on Dean and trying to find him, but in that split-second, he was as worried about Bronwen. Whatever had happened in his room last night had shaken her bad and for some reason, he knew it had to do with Dean.

She offered him a weak smile. "I’ll be right there…just got to get a sweater."

 

***

 

Waking with a start Dean swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, coating the back of his tongue, and clotting his taste buds. Jesus, he thought, I hate being hungry. He hadn’t eaten in what three or four days or maybe it had been a week. His stomach was beyond the growling stage now it just pinched and twisted as it shrunk from lack of food.

He pushed himself up and tried to remember anything from before he’d fallen asleep. However, the only thing he could recall was that he felt like shit and he’d found water. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment and he listened to the darkness around him searching for any sign that the fucking monster was lurking. He chuckled to himself at that thought, a self-deprecating sound that would have made Sam bawl like a baby had he been here. Yeah, that thing was definitely a ‘fucking’ monster. It had fucked him hard and fast.

Trying to push back those dark and twisted thoughts, Dean struggled to set up and lifted his bound wrists to his mouth. He had to get completely free, if he didn’t the beast would return and he’d be taken repeatedly. A voice soft as brushed silk whispered in his ear and he shuddered at its words.

_You were raped, Dean. Why can’t you just admit that?_

He bit into the rope around his wrists tugging at it with his teeth. Maybe this would push back the voice that continued to caress the inside of his skull with feathery touches.

_He knows it. He’s suffering for you and you can’t even admit what happened._

"Shut up…" Dean mumbled around a mouthful of damp, dusty hemp.

_Admit it and end his suffering. You know he can hear you._

Spitting out a mouthful of strands Dean growled softly, his eyes narrowing as he searched the darkness around him for the source of that annoying whisper. "Who are you?" He hissed through clenched teeth. "Is this another game? Because you know, dude, not in the mood to play any more games. I’m all gamed out. If you want to kill me just do it and get done, but don’t you dare yank Sammy into this! Don’t you fucking dare!"

Dean screamed until tears sprang into his eyes from the raw pain in his throat. He clenched his eyes shut and panted for breath as he tried to calm down. For all he knew the voice was just in his head and he’d dropped over the edge of insanity that he’d so often walked in the family business. His head dropped to his drawn up knees, his bound wrists acting as a pillow to his bruised and swollen face.

_I’m here…Dean open your eyes…_

Swallowing back a frustrated sob, Dean lifted his head, and to his utter disbelief, he saw a light. "What the fuck…?" He whispered.

A soft flow of white mist hovered just a few feet from where he sat hunched near the spring. It swirled and undulated trying to take on some form and its movements were hypnotic, pulling his gaze to it very much like a mirage in the desert would draw a man dying of thirst. After a few minutes or perhaps it was seconds, the misty strands began to form into something feasible.

A young woman, Dean thought.

She was milk pale and only half of her form was there imprinted on his retinues like a liquid shadow. She reached out her hand the movement leaving trails of mist behind in the darkness.

_Dean_ _, please…_

"Who," his throat tightened, "the fuck are you? Are you one of the things Sammy and I saw; the things following us in the woods?" Her partially formed head moved from side to side, and Dean got the distinct impression that she was weeping, though her expression never changed, and no sound came.

_No and yes, you do know me…_

Tears began to well in Dean’s wide eyes. "Mom?" he whispered his voice like a small child’s lost in the darkness.

_I’m sorry Dean…she’s moved on…_

He swallowed back a dry hiccupping sob. "Then who?" an image popped into his head of a tiny blue creature dressed in white and he began to giggle--a deep throaty tearful sound. "Smurfs…" he swallowed hard, "…Jess?"

She seemed to smile and her image fluttered getting stronger.

"Why?" Dean choked out. "Why you and not…" he stopped trying to draw a deep breath into his rattling lungs.

_When she chose to sacrifice herself in that house a second time for the sons she loved so deeply, the doors opened, and she was allowed to rest. Sam knew this in his heart Dean, but he couldn’t bear to tell you…_

Dean’s tears began to fall then. "What do you want? You got a key to release me? Maybe a god damned flashlight? Or a knife would be nice." He held up his still bound wrists convinced that he had indeed lost what little mind he still possessed.

The pale image began to flutter and her head turned as if searching for something in the dark.

_Hide…he’s coming back…_

A vise closed around Dean’s chest, "Where the fuck do I hide?" He scrambled to his knees searching the darkness with his trembling fingers.

_Water it’s your savior…go to the water…_

Her ghostly image began to flicker as Dean scrambled closer to the edge of the spring and glanced over his shoulder. Her pale ethereal hand lifted, motioning for him to continue and he felt his chest tighten in fear.

_Hurry…the cave beneath the well…_

Throwing a prayer to the darkness was something Dean rarely did, he sucked in a deep breath and slid off the rocky shelf into the spring. The second the icy water hit his skin the shock made him fight to keep the air he’d inhaled as the coldness slid over his head engulfing him in a crystalline tomb of silence, his brain screaming out.

_Sammy_ _…oh, God…Sammy I’m going to die…_

 

***

 

The small group had gathered after breakfast around Mair’s desk and each had their own pile of papers and notes. Sam sat behind his laptop and scanned over a web page he’d found that talked about Bara-Hack and the investigation that had taken place between August 30 and October 31 of 1971. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, then glanced across the table to where Bronwen was studying an old leather journal, scribbling occasional notes on a yellow legal pad. They’d been at it for almost four hours and all they’d uncovered were bits and pieces, just tiny shards of the puzzle.

"Coffee?"

Sam glanced up into Mair’s pale silvery eyes and sighed. "Thanks."

Sitting a steaming mug down next to Sam’s laptop, she took a seat next to him and studied him intently. "How’re you feelin’ Sam?"

He sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair until it stood on end in spots and then reached out taking the waiting mug. "Exhausted…" he took a sip and sighed softly in contentment as the warm liquid slipped over his taste buds, "Exhausted and frustrated."

Mair chuckled softly. "I'm afraid it comes with the territory, son." Her gaze shifted from his sickly pale face to the screen of the laptop. "So have you found anything useful?"

"Not much." Sam hummed thoughtfully as he took another sip of his coffee and set aside the mug. "It says here that the group in ‘71 talked to a Harry Chase who lived at the edge of the property."

"Ol’ Harry," Mair mused, "he was one of the few people who knew my true nature. Had a habit of hauntin’ them woods and as I recall he was a bit of an amateur photographer. He showed them fools his photos…you might have seen some of them in the Ingley’s café in town."

"Yeah, Dean…" Sam paused swallowing hard, his eyes going glassy, "…he showed me the photos when we first came in."

"The cannwyll gorff," Mair sighed. "They’ve been there since before the Welsh settlers came to this land. When the first settlers saw the lights out in the woods, they associated them with their own legends. Course the natives had their own names for that place, said it was a thin place."

Sam lifted his gaze to Mair’s thoughtful face. "You said when we first met that it was a doorway between worlds."

"Aye that I did, the natives knew better than the fool settlers did. The settlers considered the natives savages or heathens people spooked by things that went bump in the dark. Things only a damn fool would believe in."

Leaning back in his chair Sam cradled the mug between his hands and listened intently as he sipped his coffee. Mair seemed to know a great deal more than they did and yet she seemed hesitant to be forthcoming. It was as if she feared for them all and though he understood the fear, he couldn’t allow it to keep him from Dean. Dean was all he had left and if he lost Dean to whatever lurked out in that haunted place he knew that he couldn’t go on--not alone. "Mair please…I know you’re scared, but my brother…"

"You damned straight I’m scared. Only a fool wouldn’t be scared of what lies out there. You’re brother Dean ain’t the first the others have taken and he surely will not be the last. Except this time they stepped over the bounds, they snatched a hunter, and that I can’t allow. So damn few of you in the world and when the darkness starts gobbling you up then that’s when I put my foot down."

Leaning forward, weary eyes focused on Mair’s drawn face Sam spoke softly. "Then tell me Mair…tell me how to get him back."

"I’m not sure I know how son."

***

 

He was so heavy…drifting through a cold darkness that caressed his damaged body with icy fingers that promised to ease his pain. Drifting downward into the thickening darkness he heard the soft laughter of children and his eyes flickered open to find not darkness, but a blue tinged light that seemed to glow from far below beckoning to him.

Where was he, Dean wondered, as soft pale tendril of that light began to reach out, curling around him in a bittersweet embrace that brought his mother to mind. Her scent seemed to infuse his senses and he could almost hear her voice singing softly at his ear.

_Hush little baby, don’t say a word…_

So sweet, he thought, as he allowed the light to caress him and draw him down further into the silken chill of the water.

_Mama’s going to buy you a mocking bird…_

He was four years old again, sitting at his mother’s feet as she rocked Sammy to sleep. The shadows in the nursery were deepening and stretching across the floor as the early autumn sunlight faded into the deep shades of twilight. He could feel the soft brush of her cotton gown against his cheek and the sweet scent of her perfume filled his nose as his small fingers knotted in the tail of her gown.

_If that mocking bird don’t sing…Mama’s going to buy you a golden ring…_

Glancing up with wide green eyes, he was mesmerized by her radiant smile as she sang softly. Her hair was highlighted by the dying sun and surrounded her head in a halo of golden fire.

_And if that golden ring turns brass…_

Fire, Dean thought, fire so bright and hot it consumed his mother. His eyes flew open and he found himself drifting in the cold waters of the spring, his lungs screaming for air. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a diaphanous form and he heard a voice whispering in his ear.

_This way hunter…don’t listen to them…_

Struggling with his frozen muscles, he began to kick wildly as he followed the flickering form. His lungs burned with the effort, his head throbbing as his blood shrieked for oxygen. The silence was eerie as he felt his body knifing through the freezing darkness, and again Dean sent out a desperate prayer as a faint whisper curled around his ear piercing his oxygen-starved brain.

_Follow me…_

God please don’t let me die here, he thought. Tiny fingers curled around the frayed rope that bound his wrists and he glanced up to see a little girl, dark strands of hair drifting around her round caramel face. Her lips curled into a delicate, shy smile, her dark eyes huge in her face.

_The bad man won’t find you here…_

Dean felt himself being pulled through the water as his legs went numb with the cold. The little girl turned away slipping through the darkness, pulling him through the water as if he weighed nothing. As he started to drift into unconsciousness, the last image that followed him was of a gaping hole in the rock and the soft whisper of the little girl.

_You’ll be safe soon…Dean…_

***

 

"Look at this!" Bronwen exclaimed. "This can’t be right!"

Sam scrambled around the edge of the table his eyes wide, as Baxter and Mair joined them. "What is it? What did you find?" He demanded.

She glanced up into his fearful eyes and she took a deep breath. "The thing that we thought was Tristan’s spirit…oh God…it’s not Tristan. Tristan didn’t kill Daniel." Her heart was pounding in her ears now and her chest felt as if it were about cave in.

"What are you talking about?" Sam squatted down next to her, his hand folding over her trembling fingers.

"I’d like to know that myself bein’ as everyone in this town knows what he did."

Bronwen glanced up at Baxter and sighed. "That’s the problem though…they don’t. This is James Ingley’s journal." She pushed the worn journal across to Sam, squeezing his hand. "Read that passage." She whispered softly, her eyes drifting shut as Sam’s fingers slid from hers.

Lifting the journal from the table Sam stood and began to read. "1806 April 20th…" he paused licking his lips, a shiver creeping up his spine, "…I have done well by me son and provided everything that he has needed and still he embarrasses me in front of the townspeople and shames me at every turn. This liaison with Daniel continues behind me back. ‘Tis not enough we have been ostracized from the church for his devilish ways and sinful nature. ‘Tis not enough that we’ve been driven from the only home the boy has ever known and the villagers whisper behind me back each time I go to pick up supplies. Still he shames me with his wicked sins. Each night I lay me head down to sleep I pray for his immortal soul and finally last night me prayers were answered."

Sam stopped his chest feeling heavy and his brain screaming. Across the table, Mair’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, her palms bracing her against the smooth worn pine. "Samuel? Child are you okay?"

He shook himself and smiled at Mair weakly. "Yeah, I’m fine." He cleared his throat and glanced back to the yellowed page in front of him the words swimming across the page. He began to read again his throat tightening. "The voices came to me tonight, angels of heaven whispering God’s word in my ear and answering my prayers. They tell me the truth of what has happened to me beloved son. Daniel is the reason for all me families pain and suffering. He is but a demon of lust raised from the flames of hell to seduce me innocent Tristan. Tristan must be taught the truth of his--"

Sam coughed the heaviness in his chest growing with each word.

Next to him, Bronwen reached out her hand caressing his arm. "Sam what is it?"

"Nothing," he sucked in a ragged breath and continued, "…the truth of his liaison with this devil from the pits. The angels have told me what I have to do to save his soul."

Trembling Sam looked up at the others, his pulse loud in his ears, and his vision began to blur. "He killed Tristan…and Daniel."

"Sweet Goddess," Mair shook her head, "…all these years and Tristan was blamed for his lover’s murder."

"So what does it matter?" Baxter stepped closer, his arm wrapping around Mair’s waist.

"It means that James Ingley sold his soul to something in those woods. He sold his soul and sacrificed his son Tristan and his lover to the darkness that walks that place." Bronwen stood and ran her fingers through her hair, her brow knotted in thought. "If you fight the darkness you need to know its true face--its true name."

Her words reached into the fog that seemed to surround Sam as he began to sway on his feet. "That means whatever has Dean isn’t what we thought." A wracking cough caused his body to spasm and water filled his mouth, splattering across the table when another fit of coughing caused him to double over.

Baxter was around the table and grabbing Sam as his knees collapsed beneath him. "What the fuck is going on?" He barked as he lowered Sam to the floor. "He’s coughing up water."

Gasping for air Sam could hear their voices calling his name, but he couldn’t get enough air in his constricted lungs to speak. He felt his body being forced over on its side as another round of ragged coughs caused him to shudder, icy water pouring from between his lips and pooling on the floor beneath his head. Baxter slapped his back hard and he spewed more water from his lungs.

"Come on, son…breathe."

"Bronwen!" Mair knelt on Sam’s other side, brushing his hair from his watering eyes. "Get a blanket from the closet! Poor child is freezin’ to death."

Snapping out of the horror that had consumed her, Bronwen fled down the hall and retrieved a blanket from the storage closet Sam’s ragged coughing echoing in her ears as she turned back. Reaching the table her heart began to ease its wild rhythm when she saw Baxter helping Sam to set up on the floor as he drew in ragged breaths, water dripping down his chin. Kneeling behind him, she wrapped the blanket around his trembling shoulders as he continued to cough and gasp.

"Dean…" his voice was raw and thick with phlegm, "…he’s in water…he’s drowning."

"How in god’s name do you know that?" Baxter growled even as his gaze settled on the pool of water Sam had coughed up.

Sam’s head lifted and he met Baxter’s dark eyes. "I don’t think it matters. He’s in water deep fucking water and I need to know if there’s a well out there in that place." His voice wavered for a moment as he scrubbed at his watering eyes.

Baxter sat back on his heels studying Sam’s expression with a bit of fear and trepidation then spoke his voice gruff. "Should be one--why?"

"Because we find that well Sheriff and we’ll find Dean."


	8. Chapter 8

_Breathe…_

Dean gasped, his vision blurring as his fingers scrambled desperately at the crumbling edge of the rock shelf. His entire body was numb with the frigid water he was floating in and he could feel his strength leaving him. The feel of his nails tearing as he pushed what remained of his strength into his arms brought him out of the vague dream of fire and children’s laughter he’d been lost in for just a moment. That moment though was enough to allow him to pull his abused body from the water and onto the shelf of crumbling limestone.

_Breathe…_

The soft whisper was barely audible above his ragged breathing as he coughed icy water from his lungs, body finally folding inward. Lying curled up on the rough stone he continued coughing and gasping until his throat felt like raw hamburger and the pain allowed him to believe for one second that he was alive.

_It’s okay the bad man is gone…_

Tiny fingers caressed his cheek as he turned his head his gaze trying to focus on the faint blurry image that knelt by his side. "Sammy…" he whimpered softly, his chest heaving desperately as he lifted one hand, the frayed remains of his bondage clinging to his raw bleeding wrist.

_He’s coming…sleep…_

Despite his need to stay awake, his eyes began to droop and his breathing eased as the delicate fingers continued stroking his battered face. The last sound on his lips as he slipped beneath the warm mantle of darkness was the sound of his brother’s name.

"Sammy..."

***

 

Bronwen stood staring out at the garden her chest aching with the knowledge that her path was beyond her control now. Somehow, fate had managed to fuck her over once more and the hope that her life was her own was slowly fading away like a dying man’s heartbeat.

"You okay?"

She hummed thoughtfully at Sam’s soft words, her eyes never leaving the fading sunlight beyond the window. Out in the garden Baxter and Mair sat on the bench where Sam and Mair had sat two days ago. Their heads were bowed close to one another and suddenly she realized that she’d been blind for far longer than she’d thought. Mair and Baxter had been lovers at one time or perhaps they’d just loved one another, but it was hard to tell. She saw the possibilities Mair had warned her not to fall into in their soft whispers and gentle touches. Now she knew why.

"Wen?"

She turned from the window, blowing an errant strand of dark hair from her face. "Did you love her that much?" She nodded towards the two shadowy figures in the garden.

Sam frowned, nibbling at his lower lip. "I think so…" his voice held an edge of uncertainty and she could see the surprise in his eyes. “ I always thought that we’d be together for the rest of our lives--you know?" He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I used to tease her and say I’d love her even if she got as wrinkly as a prune."

The silence descended around them once more and they stood side by side watching the sky turn a deep violet edged by pink and gold. In the silence that surrounded them, they both found a comfort that had been sorely lacking before. Bronwen’s voice was the first to break the silence.

"I didn’t realize it would be this hard."

"What?" Sam turned towards her, his eyes black in the dimming light.

"Now I understand what that poet meant when he said ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ My life has been so empty since my mother died and I just didn’t realize it until…" her voice trailed off as she turned to look up into Sam’s dark, confused eyes. "Forget it." She whispered and turned away, heading for the kitchen.

Sam stared at her back as she retreated wondering what had just happened. Afterwards, when all had been said and done, he would look back and realize that Bronwen had been trying to tell him something. She’d been trying to tell him how she felt, but in that moment, he was simply an exhausted and confused man; one who wanted nothing more than to find his brother and bring him home.

 

***

 

The veil of sleep slowly lifted and Dean was less than willing to let it go, but sometimes you just didn’t have a choice. The first sensation he had was of warmth, but itchy warmth that had his skin crawling off his aching bones. Well that was how the hell it felt, he thought, as his eyes drifted open.

A rough blanket that smelled of musty attics and rich black earth was tucked around his naked, aching body. For a moment, he had a hard time processing where he was and then he remembered the darkness and the icy cold. He sat up, numbed and bloody fingers clinging to the blanket as if his life depended on it. As soon as he got his bearings, Dean was overcome by the feeling that someone was watching him and he shivered glancing around to come face to face with the little girl from the water. Or had that been a dream, he wondered, brought on by shock?

Her wide dark eyes studied him as a child studies the world, a gleam of wonderment in their dark depths. Drawing his knees up beneath the threadbare blanket, he cleared his throat and she didn’t even flinch. "You were in the water." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat again, pain causing a grimace to twist his lips. As soon as he managed to push the pain down, he focused on the silent girl again. "Did you give me the blanket?"

Head cocking to the side like a tiny bird she smiled.

"I’m guessing that’s a yes." Dean chuckled as her smile widened.

As she crept closer, Dean realized she was dressed in what he could only describe as buckskin. The soft [leather dress](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=leather%20dress) was decorated with tiny delicate beads around the neck and cuffs and matching beads were woven into her raven black hair in two delicate braids that hung on either side of her plump face. Her eyes though were what continually caught his attention, almost as if she were looking straight into his soul, and a shiver ran through him. She couldn’t be more than maybe six or seven, he thought, and he was pretty damned sure that no child, at least no human child, would be in this place.

"You got a name?" Dean questioned quirking a brow. "I mean…it’s not like I can call you ‘hey you’. Well I could, but that wouldn’t be very nice."

Childish laughter echoed across the walls, though her lips never parted, and Dean knew without a doubt she wasn’t of this world. He was used to monsters and vengeful spirits not little Indian girls with elusive smiles.

"You remind me of Sammy." He whispered softly. "All big puppy eyes…damn that kid could get anything he wanted when he was your age. Bet those eyes just melted the hearts of all those Stanford babes."

Another soft ripple of laughter filled the air and then he heard the voice.

_Silent Doe…_

Dean’s eyes widened. "That your name?"

She nodded and her smile turned into a full out toothy grin. He remembered a grin like that on Sammy’s face when he was that age and the thought of Sam brought tears to his eyes that he couldn’t afford. He cleared his throat, forcing the tears back because frankly, if he started really thinking about Sam he’d completely lose it.

_He’s coming…_

He lifted his head as her hand caressed his cheek, "Who?"

_Your brother…he’s coming with the guardian…_

"What the fuck is a guardian?"

The only answer Dean got was an elusive smile and then she was gone.

 

***

 

Dinner was a quiet affair of thick homemade stew and fresh baked bread and though it smelled and looked delicious, Sam couldn’t bring himself to eat. His thoughts were on one thing and one thing only--Dean. He poked forlornly at a chunk of beef and then pushed it beneath the thick broth. How could he set here and eat when he knew without a doubt that Dean was cold, hungry, and hurting somewhere out in those woods?

"That stew won’t eat itself, son."

He glanced up at Baxter who sat across the table studying him with dark eyes. "I’m not hungry." Sam whispered, his gaze going back to the bowl and poked at a chunk of carrot.

"You’d better not let Mair hear you say that. She’ll be a might bit ticked off." Baxter shoveled a spoonful of stew in his mouth chewing thoughtfully. Swallowing he focused on Sam’s slumped shoulders and cleared his throat causing Sam to look up with wide eyes. "You ain’t goin’ to be a bit good to your brother if you starve yourself."

Sam snorted, "Haven’t been much help so far."

"Now don’t you go beatin’ yourself up. How were you boys to know there was something out there in the woods? You sure and the hell ain’t from around these parts."

"I knew." Sam’s voice was barely audible.

Baxter quirked one brow, "You did now--did you? I doubt you knew what it was though, so don’t go taking all the blame. I learned a long time ago there are things us mortal folks have no control over." Sadness tinged his words even as he cleared his throat and shook whatever memory away that had brought it to the surface.

Glancing up Sam sighed, "Mair?"

Shaking his head Baxter laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Shows that easily does it now? You’d think after forty-five years I’d be better at hiding it."

"You were…" Sam stopped himself.

"Yeah," Baxter smiled again, but this time it reached his eyes. "We were sweethearts from the moment I walked into that kindergarten class." He chuckled. "Five years old and I knew I wanted to marry her and do whatever married people did. Course the damned fates weren’t on our side. She was called when she was thirteen and me bein’ the stubborn ass I was couldn’t give up on the dream. When she was sixteen Mair was the prettiest girl in three townships and even she was beginnin’ to hope, but then her parents died in a car accident out on Route 97. The guardian then was a guy by the name of Michaelson. He was her daddy’s best friend. So, when he adopted her nary an eyebrow raised at that. Then when she turned eighteen Michaelson died and she inherited the mantle."

Sam’s eyes welled with tears as he thought of Jess and all he’d lost. "I’m sorry."

Lifting his gaze to Sam, Baxter chuckled. "Don’t be son. We never had a conventional relationship and no matter how hard Mair pushed me away, I kept coming back. Now enough with this eat up son and we can get to work on those county maps--okay?"

With a quick nod of his head, Sam began eating though to be honest he didn’t taste it. Nothing had any flavor since Dean had vanished. It was all he could do to gag the food down knowing he was outnumbered three to one. If he didn’t eat, he’d never hear the end of it. Better he eat, be done with it.

 

***

 

Know your surroundings at all times.

His father’s words called to him from the past, John’s voice rough and brusque and yet there was a hint of love there. John had always loved his sons, but he’d had a hard time showing it outside of the training. Sammy had never much cared for the training and if it hadn’t been for him, Sammy might not have lived past the ripe old age of ten. If nothing else Dean could always rely on the hero worship, that he saw shining in his brother’s wide eyes. So, he’d thrown himself into the training with a vigor that had impressed his dad.

"Some hero you turned out to be you stupid bastard." Dean dragged himself to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his hips, and knotting it with numb fingers.

He tried to focus on his father’s words as he fought the pain that wracked his body and his legs that seemed to have turned to jelly. Fingers clutching at the rough stone, he stumbled along the ledge, eyes shifting from the walls to the water that shimmered with something other than the faint light in the cave. The cavern he’d been in before had been black as pitch, but here it was a diffused grey. He could make out shapes and even some details he hadn’t been able to before.

A soft curse slipped from his lips as a particularly sharp stone cut into the sole of his foot and he scrambled for purchase on the wall. Dean had no desire what so ever to go for another swim in ‘Spook’ lake, as he’d come to call the water that was the center of his prison. It seemed there was nothing but wall and water as far as he could see. Exhausted from his circular jaunt around the dark water that seemed to whisper at him, Dean sank to his haunches, hissing at the pain that flared through his pelvis. He bit his lip hard trying to force it all back, the pain, the anger, and the memory of what that fucking thing had done to him.

Glancing down to his hands lying limp in his blanket-covered lap Dean sighed. He could already see the beginnings of infection in the ragged wounds around his wrists. If they were getting infected, God only knew what--no, Dean thought, I will not think about that. He sucked in a deep breath and struggled to his feet again. Maybe he’d missed something, he thought, maybe there was a way out of this place and it was right there in front of his face.

Then again, that tiny voice in his brain whispered. Hell just froze over into a winter wonderland.

 

***

 

_He was not pleased in the least._

_Every fifty years he was allowed to return as many of the cursed spirits did in this place to draw more souls into the darkness. When he’d seen he’d known this one was ripe and ready to feed the darkness. Despite his sassy mouth and his hard shell, he was filled with doubts and righteous anger._

_A mother ripped from his hands by a dark force he didn’t understand._

_A father that at times had carefully navigated the thin line between abuse and discipline when it came to his sons._

_Then there was the brother who abandoned him for years to be destroyed by the same darkness consuming their father._

_And finally, there was the lover who had betrayed him, tossed him aside as if he were trash, when he needed love because of her own fears and disbelief._

_Oh, yes, he chuckled to himself Dean Winchester was all the demons of this place could hope for and far more. He had the potential to slip into their world as easily as he’d hunted them until now. Yes, now the hunter had become the prey and he tasted so sweet._

_His fear was thick as clotted cream on his tongue. Fear that everyone had abandoned him and he would be consumed._

_Then there was the brother, even sweeter than Dean was, but far too powerful to take as he had with Dean. The boy had shined with a fire that had cast the woods in an inferno of harsh light and deep shadows. His masters had cried out in ecstasy and need when they had tasted his light. The sweetest ones were the ones who thought they fought the good fight. Of course, he’d sensed both of them long ago in passing as he slept in the darkness far beneath the earth; the anguished cries of his previous victims a sweet lullaby to his ears as he rested._

_He’d known when they were close once more and he had pleaded his case to his masters._

_Two beautiful creatures, who dared to hunt their kind. Only children when they had passed through this place so many years before gifts crying out to be taken and defiled._

_Dean_ _had thought to escape his soul searing touch and the foolish spirits that still swirled beneath the surface thought to help him. There was no help for Dean or his brother Sam; he laughed softly, especially when Sam realized what he’d done. He may be of the darkness, but unlike Lucifer, he was not the Prince of Lies._

_The truth was his weapon._

_Samuel_ _…_

His laughter echoed through the darkness as he spoke the boy’s name. He had no doubt that the boy could hear him even when in the world of the waking. Just as the voices reached him in his hour of need, his disgusting excuse of a son had betrayed him by fucking that whore. Daniel had fought him as Dean had, but he’d lost as Dean would and Sam as well.

***

 

Sam tried to focus on the USGS map spread in front of him, but his vision kept blurring and his head was pounding. He knew it was more than likely from his lack of sleep over the last few days, but he also knew he had to keep pushing. If the roles were reversed, he knew Dean would do the same for him. Taking a deep breath he forced his eyes to focus on the map as he searched for what he knew was there, what Jess had told him was there when he’d been in that place--that thin place.

Tears of exhaustion welled in his eyes as his thoughts drifted. "Thin place…" he whispered.

"What was that?" Bronwen glanced up from James Ingley’s journal rubbing at her tired eyes.

"Thin place," Sam stood and began shuffling through books until he found the one he needed. Flipping through the dusty pages his finger skimmed through the index, "Mair! You said the natives of the region considered the village one--right?"

Mair’s brow wrinkled in confusion. "Yes, that would be what they called it. Why?"

He looked up with shining eyes. "When someone has an out of body experience would that be considered a thin place? A place between worlds…" he flipped wildly through the pages of the book.

"I suppose it would be considered that, but never thought much about it." Mair stood and walked around to where he was glancing down at the page. "What are you thinkin’ Samuel?"

"When I was in the hospital," Sam sucked a breath through clenched teeth, "I saw Jess. I was there in one of those thin places."

"Jess?" Mair flashed a questioning look at Bronwen.

"It doesn’t matter." Sam whispered. "Just listen, I saw her. I forgot until this afternoon. She's the one that told me about the well and now--"

"Now what?" Baxter spoke up with a frown. He knew how close Sam had been to dying and it didn’t surprise him the boy had seen someone he obviously loved a great deal. What did surprise him was Mair didn’t know what the boy was talking about at all.

Sam glanced up from the page he’d been skimming. "If Dean is trapped in a ‘thin place’, then I know what I have to do to find him."

A sudden image flickered behind Mair’s eyes as her fingers brushed Sam’s hand and she sucked in a deep breath. "Son, you can’t." Her voice was filled with horror. "This isn’t the way to find your brother."

"It’s the only way, Mair. You know it and so do I. Dean is my life now without him…" the rest he left unspoken as he grabbed the book heading for his room. "Just get what you need together. We’re leaving in an hour.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bronwen narrowed her focus on Mair. “What the hell is he talking about?” Her head twitched in the direction Sam had vanished. Mair glanced at her with shuttered eyes and turned away. “Don’t you dare fucking do that, Mair!” Her voice rose louder than she’d wanted, but her frustration was at an all time high. “You’re going to tell me what the hell Sam meant by that or so help me God I’ll…”  
  
“You’ll what child?” Mair glanced up from where she was straightening the books and papers Sam had scattered in his search. “You’ll walk away from your destiny? You’ll try to convince yourself no matter what happens that Samuel will stay here and love you like you love him?”  
  


“That’s not fair!” Bronwen hissed through clenched teeth.   
  
Baxter stepped between the two women knowing he could well end up with his own set of bruises, but he was damned sick of this shit. His heart went out to this young woman, but from what Mair had told him Bronwen had been called. Mair had done her service to whatever power was out there playing with them as if they were pawns in some huge cosmic chess game. “Miss Wen you keep a civil tongue in your head. Wasn’t Mair who chose you to take her place--that ain’t her job and I’d thank you to show her more respect.” His eyes flashed in annoyance.  
  
“If she wants my respect, then she’ll tell me what she saw when she touched Sam!” She cried, eyes welling with tears. “She’ll tell me if what I think is true.” She swung on Mair then the tears escaping to trail down her face. “And as for how I do or do not feel about Sam that’s my fucking business--not yours!”  
  
Mair’s eyes went from warm blue to silver ice and something in her voice chilled Bronwen to the bone. “It is my business and as for what I saw…you will have to ask Samuel himself. Ain’t my place to reveal what is his to speak of. Now you need to leave this room before I chose to show you exactly what I am capable of.”  
  
From the back door, an unearthly howl rose and both Baxter and Bronwen glanced at each other, faces going pale. A few seconds passed as the howl faded into a wicked sharp silence, and then the door swung open, Mair’s wolfhound stood there eyes glimmering with an expression that spoke volumes.  
  
“Gruffydd…” Mair called to the animal that was bearing his teeth in a snarl. He dropped his head and growled low in his throat as he moved to Mair’s side. “I believe,” Mair whispered in a tight voice, “we are done here.”  
  
Bronwen turned and fled down the hall to Sam’s room, hands shaking, and cold sweat dripping down her spine. She’d felt the same power she’d felt the previous night. The power that had appeared, swelling from within her, to protect Sam, but this time it was outside her and there was a sharpness to it she’d never dreamed possible. She could no longer deny what Mair had said to her.  
  
She was the one. Now from somewhere deep inside her she realized everything had happened in the past few days had been a test. No matter the outcome, she knew once the smoke cleared her destiny as well as Sam and Dean’s would be sealed in stone.  
  
***  
  
Sorting through his bag Sam tried to push back the bile rising in his throat. He’d be a fool not to admit he was terrified about what he was about to do. He was talking about Dean though.   
  
Dean who had carried him from their burning house when he no more than four years old. The big brother who had protected him at every corner whether it was from schoolyard bullies, their father’s occasional drunken rages, or whatever monster they’d been hunting at the time. He remembered Dean reading him bedtime stories and bringing him warm cocoa when he’d had horrid nightmares at six. He remembered experiencing his first crush at twelve how Dean had told him what little girls wanted to hear.  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched as he recalled the ‘Ew’ factor with that discussion. Dean had chuckled and told him ‘Just wait a few years Sammy-boy and trust me…it’ll all be worth it.’ Dean had been right, even if all he’d gotten from Susie Frelin was a kiss on the cheek. His hand lifted, fingertips grazing his cheek where the ghost of her moist, strawberry scented lips, had pressed all those years ago and suddenly the walls he’d been fighting so hard to keep in place began to crumble into so much psychic dust.  
  
He sank to the floor, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair and hands grinding into eye sockets. He sucked a deep breath in through his nose as tears began falling down his face. He’d already lost Jess and never had the chance to mourn, as he should have. Her parents had been angered that he, a boy who had professed to love their daughter, had walked away from the fire while their daughter had died.   
  
When Dean had offered to drive him to her funeral, he’d refused, and then curled up in a tight ball in the passenger seat. When he’d awakened it was twilight, and the Impala had been parked in the cemetery where Jess had been laid to rest. Dean had been leaning against the front bumper watching the sunset and when he got out of the car Dean immediately spoke, voice tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite understand. Even now, he could still hear Dean’s words in his head.  
  
 _“No Dr. Phil shit---okay, Sammy? Just go. I know you loved her and it doesn’t matter what happens after this, you just got to tell her good-bye the best you can, and then we’ll take care of business.”_  
  
Now here he was six months later and this time the last person he cared for, outside of his father, the only person who really knew him wasn’t there to comfort him. Dean was gone and it was all Sam could do to keep it together knowing what his brother had been going through. What if he was too damn late and even if he did find him would it be a shell of the brother he loved far more than he’d every admitted?  
  
Bronwen’s presence was like a subtle breeze as she settled next to him at the foot of the bed. He glanced over and was surprised she wasn’t staring at him. Dean’s voice echoed in his head ‘quit being such a girl’ and he couldn’t help, but to smile through the tears. She sighed and his attention was back on her face and for the first time he really saw her and how beautiful she was. Reaching out he brushed back a heavy strand of dark hair from her heart-shaped face. As he did, she turned her head and her lips brushed the pulse point of his wrist. For a moment, they stared at one another and then he pulled back his hand as if he’d scalded it.  
  
“What are you doing?” Bronwen’s words ached with pain and sadness.   
  
“What do you mean, Wen?”  
  


“There has to be another way to find him, Sam. There just has to be.” Her voice cracked as she turned away, rubbing her eyes. “Belladonna is too damn dangerous.”  
  
Sam frowned as he turned back to study her profile. “How did you know? Did Mair tell you?”  
  
“You told me.” She whispered. “When you touched me.”  
  
Sam’s brows shot up disappearing beneath his shaggy hair. “You can…”  
  
“Apparently, now I can.” She sighed.  
  
“But how?”  
  


“I’m the new guardian.” She pulled her knees up resting her cheek on them and watched Sam’s reaction through the silky veil of her hair.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Sam whispered as his head fell back against the foot rail of the bed, gaze focusing on the yellowed plaster ceiling. “I know what it’s like to have your whole world twisted into a freaky mess.”  
  
She chuckled and leaned in, head resting against Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, I bet you do. Probably the only one I’ve ever known who really understands. It’s hard being a freak.” The laughter came again, but now it was throaty portending tears. “God…Sam, what are we going to do?”  
  
Sam wrapped his arm around Bronwen in a loose hug. “We’re going to do what we have too no matter what. We’re going out into that freaky nightmare and we’re going to rescue my brother. All the rest is just icing on the cake.”  
  


“Some damn cake.” Bronwen snorted.  
  
***  
  
Sitting on the edge of the limestone lip that encircled the water Dean stared into its dark depths. There seemed no way out of this place and the last thing he was about to do was go swimming because he’d already been in that water and he knew something lay in its darkness that wanted him and not in a good way.  
  
“What the fuck did I drag us into, Sammy?” He whispered as his eyes focused on what seemed to be a shimmer of light beneath the surface. Scrambling back Dean yelped as his body protested at the sudden movement. “Shit…god damn it…”   
  
He searched the dim gray of the cavern for any place to hide and wished with all his heart he had his trusty sawed off shotgun. Even if the fucker wouldn’t help, he’d feel a hell of a lot better about this entire situation. Behind him as he scrambled over rocks, big and small, tearing the skin from his palms and his knees Dean heard the water. It was like the roar you heard when you lifted a shell to your ear, but this roar sent spikes of ice into his gut.  
  
 _There you are…Dean…_  
  
The hissing voice caused him to almost double over in pain as he dug his fingers in the surface of a huge rock and pulled himself up and over, every muscle screaming in agony.  
  
 _Did you think you were safe…?_  
  
“Fuck you!” Dean screamed over his shoulder as the voice drew nearer and he forced himself to keep moving.  
  
 _I believe I already fucked you and you screamed for more…_  
  
It began laughing and the sound caused his skin to crawl along his bones. “Son of a fucking bitch! You son of a bitch!” Dean screamed as he turned only to be met by nothing. Glancing back and forth, he gasped for air, breathless from his desperate run. “Where the fuck did…?”  
  
He didn’t finish the sentence as an icy whisper of wind caressed the back of his neck and he turned to face the ‘thing’ as he’d come to call it. Breathe catching in his throat he scrambled backwards oblivious to the rocks that tore into his palm and shredded his skin.   
  
The only thing he was aware of was those eyes.  
  
Eyes completely devoid of anything bordering on humanity, they glowed with a bright green light, set in the shadowy well of its face. It had the shape of a man, but Dean knew demons and spirits could take on any shape they chose.  
  
 _Oh, I was human…once…_  
  
Dean’s eyes widened as the creature advanced and his back hit the wall of the cavern. This is it, he thought, I’ve pissed one too many demons off and now it’s payback time. The thing threw its head back and began laughing.  
  
 _Is that what you think boy?_  
  
“Get out of my fucking head you bastard!” Dean screamed, gaze shifting to a small softball sized rock. He let his fingers creep across the cold stone.   
  
_Go ahead boy…throw it…_  
  
With a growl of frustration, Dean’s fingers closed around the rock and he stood aiming for the creature with a deadly accuracy. To his complete and utter horror, the stone went right through it accompanied by a thick sucking sound like hot tar. A huge hole appeared in its torso and then it began to weave back together, tiny tendrils of oily blackness that made Dean’s stomach surge with their writhing.  
  
 _Do you feel better?_  
  
Eyes wide, shocked into silence, Dean noticed the surface of the ‘thing’ begin to shimmer and twist. He saw faces begin to form, a multitude of screaming tortured faces that began to push outward, vacant black eyes focusing on him.  
  
 _Do you like my pets?_  
  
Dean began shaking his head furiously and he could feel his mind begin to crack. “Souls…oh…god…” he whimpered trying to shrink into the wall at his back, “…you took their souls…”  
  
 _Yes, I did…_  
  
It came closer as hands appeared pushing and clawing at the blackness and the voices of what Dean imagined were the damned cried out. He clamped his hands to his ears his entire body shaking as he attempted to force the voices to silence. “No…no…no….”  
  
 _Help us…  
  
Come to us…  
  
We’re so cold…  
  
Be with us…_  
  
Dean started screaming and he couldn’t stop.   
  
***  
  
There had been little talk on the trip to Bara-Hack though a great deal of things seemed to float in the air around Sam and Bronwen, unspoken things. Sam had taken the Impala and Bronwen rode shotgun while Mair rode with Sheriff Baxter. He’d taken the lead and no matter how much Sam had argued he’d stood firm. Now as he followed the bright crimson of Baxter’s taillights through the darkness he tried to push down the anger that had flared during the argument.  
  
“You love him…don’t you?”   
  
Bronwen’s soft question shattered the silence in the car and Sam glanced at her from the corner of his eye, pushing back the hair from his eyes. “Of course I do. What kind of question is that? He’s my brother.”  
  
She sighed. “No, I mean you…’love’ him.”  
  
Sam turned his head, eyes shadowed in the dark interior of the car, eerie glow of the dials highlighting his face. “Love him? What is that suppose to…?” Then it hit him. He whipped his head back around focusing on Baxter’s taillights. “That’s sick.” He whispered, though there was no conviction in his voice. “He’s my brother.” Sam repeated and then the silence descended once more.  
  
***  
  


At one am they came to a halt next to Mashomoquet Brook and Sam had to swallow back bile as he stepped from the car, fist clenched tight around Dean’s keys. He hadn’t been back here since Dean had disappeared and he remembered the silence, the raw surge of electricity in the air, but this time rather than a whisper against his skin, it was a scream. He swayed on his feet for a moment and closed his eyes breathing in and out slowly.  
  
“Samuel you can feel it---can’t you?”  
  
He opened his eyes to see Mair swathed in the light of the oil lamp she carried, face seemingly melting from youthful to ancient and back again. He squeezed his eyes shut again as he felt tendrils of pain slither along the curve of his skull and his stomach lurched.  
  
“Samuel.”  
  
Sam’s eyes popped open and he released a deep breath. “I’m okay…really I am.” He insisted. Avoiding the questions he knew were going to come, he nodded at the oil lamp Mair carried. “Why the oil lamp? Why not flashlights?”  
  


“Nothin’ modern works up there.” Baxter explained voice gruff as he turned toward the path. “Some folks think it’s like a black hole and sucks in all this energy. Me personally I just think those damned spirits up there think it’s funny to fuck with the livin’.”  
  
Mair snorted and shook her head, reached into her coat pocket fumbling around, and pulled out a leather thong with a bag hanging from it. She held it out to Sam, deep sadness in her eyes. “Was a shame your father didn’t have the sense to find you help child. He was a good man, but he wasn’t ready for what happened to your family. He did the best he could and he had Missouri.”  
  


“Missouri? You know Missouri?” Sam’s brows disappeared beneath his hair.  
  
“Sure do, son.” Mair chuckled. “We ol’ freaks got to stick together. She’s a good woman. Helped your daddy best she could, but bein’ born into a family that is aware and a family that ain’t well it’s an entirely different animal. Now enough talkin’…take this.” She thrust the bag into Sam’s hand and turned following Baxter into the darkness.  
  
Sam glanced down at the silk bag and ran his thumb over it feeling the textures and shapes beneath it smoothness.  
  
“It’s a charm bag.” Bronwen reached out her fingertips tracing over the silk and caressing Sam’s thumb. Her eyes drifted shut and she felt the warmth again well inside her, but this time, she didn’t allow it to scare her. “Rosemary…for protection against evil and to aid in your gift. It purifies your heart and soul so no darkness may intrude.” She lifted her head and smiled at Sam as her eyes drifted open. “Rue that keeps you mind sharp and clear.” Her thumb began stroking the smooth skin between Sam’s thumb and finger. “Violets” her voice stroked Sam’s skin like liquid heat, “they offer protection against ‘wykked sperytis’. Fire and water both are cleansing and purifying.”  
  
He swallowed hard, fingers falling open so she could pull bag from his hand. A tiny smile curled the corner of her mouth and then she pursed her lips whistling softly. There was a soft flutter of wings and Sam jerked back stumbling for a moment before he realized it was a barn owl, flat ghostly white heart shaped face glowing in the darkness.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Bronwen smiled then, a wide, full-fledged smile. “That is Gwenhwyfar…say hello Gwenhwyfar.”  
  
The owl blinked and twisted its head to focus on Sam and made a soft noise somewhere between a purr and a coo. He grinned and reached out, fingertips ghosting over the downy soft feathers. “She’s beautiful.” He jumped when she stretched making a louder noise that crept beneath his skin.  
  
“She likes you.” Bronwen chuckled.  
  
Sam glanced up through his lashes at Bronwen. “When did you get a pet owl?”  
  


“Oh this is the first time I’ve seen her and she’s not a pet.”  
  
“Then how did you know her name?”  
  
Bronwen smirked and turned to head up the path Gwenhwyfar perched on her shoulder. “Oh that? She told me.”  
  
***  
  
He couldn’t breathe and his heart was pounding very much like one of those Jamaican kettledrums or so he imagined as his brain faded and flared with each desperate ragged breathe. Pinned to the stone wall, he couldn’t move either and his whimpers grew louder as the oily black tendrils caressed his skin sending waves of nauseating cold through him. He could still hear the voices, but now they were a background hiss, white noise that tickled his ears.  
  
 _Why must you fight it?_  
  
Those cold green eyes seemed to pierce his brain ripping shreds of who he was and who he might become away like flakes of parchment. One thick tentacle caressed the side of his face as a handful of smaller ones skittered across his trembling lips.  
  
 _You are a brother to the darkness…_  
  
Dean shook his head, vision blurring, afraid to speak. The tiny tendrils forced their way past chapped and bleeding lips, prying his jaw open, and Dean cried out at the pain even as he fought.  
  
 _Don’t make my pets break that beautiful jaw…_  
  
Gasping for air, Dean squirmed tugging at the black living things that held him pinned against the wall. “No…I’m not…” he croaked.  
  
 _But you are…_  
  
“No…not one of yours…fucker…” He groaned as the thick tentacles curled up his trembling thighs, stroking between his ass cheeks, and he moaned in fear. “Don’t…god damn it, don’t you do this to me.” He choked out. “I won’t ever be yours.”  
  
 _You will though…just like Daniel…just like Tristan…my masters wish to possess you and your beautiful brother. You are the bait…_  
  
“You leave Sammy alone!” Dean screamed. “You want me fine, but you leave my brother alone you son of a bitch!” He felt the tendrils tease along his damaged body and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “Do it…I don’t care…” his voice cracked, “…just leave Sammy alone.”  
  
 _Very well, Dean, for now…_  
  
A muffled scream escaped Dean as one of the tentacles thrust into his mouth slamming into the back of his already raw throat and another impaled him. The eyes shined with an amused fevor as Dean jerked and convulsed, thick oily tentacle thrusting in and out of his ravaged ass. The other slipped down his throat squirming and spreading out to course through his body as Dean gagged. Tears streaked his face as he reached out and tried to contact Sam.  
  
 _Sammy…please…leave me…not worth it…_   
  
***  
  
Reaching the edge of the village hadn’t taken as long as he’d feared, but the entire time Sam could feel them, the ones that had followed Dean and him. He clenched his fists, heart thumping as he took one step at a time. Suddenly Bronwen was in front of him and he gasped at the sudden movement. Normally he wasn’t this damn jumpy, but those fucking lights and flickering figures were working on his nerves.  
  
“Bend down.” She hissed.  
  
Raising a brow, he bent down and she slipped the thong holding the charm bag over his head and around his neck. She brushed his hair away from his forehead and smiled. “Don’t worry Sam the gods and goddesses are with you tonight.” She glanced up at the full moon suspended among the glittering stars. “You’re their chosen as Dean is and they do not abandon their children.”   
  
She slipped her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out a small tin, unscrewing the lid, an earthy scent filling Sam’s nose. Running her thumb over the surface of the waxy contents she lifted it to Sam’s forehead and inscribed a rune, pungent scent seeping into Sam’s every sense.  
  
“Why are you helping me?” Sam whispered as he straightened up.  
  
“Do you believe in fate?”  
  


“A little.” He replied as he watched the dancing forms at the edge of his vision. “I think we can decide our fate as well.”  
  


“Good because this was fated, Sam. This moment was preordained sixteen years ago when your father came here in search of my mother.”   
  
He frowned. “I don’t remember being here. Dean didn’t say anything either when we came into town. So what was preordained?”  
  
Bronwen smiled and reached out. “Take my hand, Sam.”  
  
Standing there on the edge of the village’s border in the darkness Sam held out his hand and seconds later, he really wished he hadn’t. As soon as their skin touched, there was a spark of electricity and he was back in the moment when he’d met Mair. He felt as if the world fell away from him and he was tumbling through darkness. Flashes of images flared behind clenched lids and his every sense seemed to grow.  
  
 _Dad’s old rattletrap Ford pick-up…rusted paint and dented fender. He’d left the Impala back in Kansas with a friend.  
  
Dean was sitting next to him. It was a ten-year old Dean though, dressed in worn and faded jeans, too big tee shirt that belonged to dad and his patched denim coat.  
  
So whatcha’ drawing dude?  
  
The feel of crayons clutched in his small hand, the scratch of the crayon against the paper, and the smell of wax.  
  
The scent of Dean…cheap motel shampoo, dusty denim and sweet bubble gum on his breath.  
  
A picture crudely drawn by small childish fingers and then his own six-year old voice whispering softly.  
  
It’s the monster in the woods.  
_  
Sam pulled away from Bronwen his eyes wide as half-dollars. “Oh my god” he groaned and stumbled towards the brush at the side of the path, “oh god I knew…” he heaved hard, what little he’d eaten surging up on a wave of stomach acid. He fell to his knees, dried grass crackling beneath a layer of frost and Bronwen’s hand settled on his back making soothing circles as he continued to heave until there was nothing left.  
  
“He okay?”  
  
Sam turned wiping his mouth on the back of his coat sleeve. “I’m fine.” He groaned as he got to his feet, looking down into Mair’s pale eyes. “Something I ate.”  
  


“More like something you saw.” Mair snorted. “Now hurry up, son. Baxter is waitin’ up by the cemetery and we ain’t got a lot of time.”  
  
Sam headed after her, Bronwen at his side much like a shadow, and as he stepped into the village, the smell of ozone filled his nose and crackling filled his ears. “He’s here…thank god…he’s still here.” He leaned in whispering in Bronwen’s ear.   
  
She didn’t say a thing, but continued walking her gaze darting about, tracking the ethereal creatures in the dark trees. Sam watched them too and he could hear their voices whispering and calling to him. The closer the came to the cemetery the louder the whispering and more frantic it became.

“Something’s wrong, Wen.” Sam hissed beneath his breath. “Can you feel it?”

“Yeah…the spirits they’re restless…almost…”  
  
“Scared.” Sam finished as the whispering changed to weeping. “Fuck!”   
  
Bronwen turned to see Sam standing, hands lifted, and pressing out into the empty air. “What the hell are you doin’, Sam?”  
  


“I can’t go any further.” He pushed hard the air taking on a smudged heat like quiver. “Go get Mair and Baxter.” This time he put all his strength behind it and it felt like he was pushing against taffy, stretchy and sticky. He glanced up to see Bronwen staring at him with wide eyes. “Damn it, Wen! Go!”  
  
She turned and fled up the path loud crunch of her boots echoing in the darkness as Sam pushed harder at whatever blocked his path. He cursed beneath his breath as he took a ragged breath and shouldered the thing wondering what the hell was happening. This time it pushed back and Sam found himself flying through the air and landing with a loud thud in a tangle of blackberry brambles.  
  
“Son of a bitch.” He grumbled as he got to his feet ignoring the brambles catching at his coat and tearing his skin. Eyes narrowing he marched straight up the path and glanced around trying to catch one of the wispy shapes in his line of vision. “Look, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I have to get through!” He yelled. “My brother needs me.”  
  
The shimmer in the air widened and suddenly a little girl appeared with wide eyes, long dark hair, and dressed in a buckskin dress. Her form trembled and winked in and out, but Sam heard her voice quite clear in his head.  
  
 _Sammy_ _?_  
  
“Yes, I’m Sammy.” He gasped in shock at the little girl using the name only Dean called him no matter how often he complained. “Have you seen, Dean?” His eyes filled with moisture as he cleared his throat. “Dean’s my brother…he calls me that…  
  
She cocked her head, eyes filling with tears.  
  
 _The bad man has him…tried to help…_  
  
“The bad man? You mean James…James Ingley?”  
  
 _He wants you…_  
  
She threw her head back, screaming, and exploded into a million tiny blue flames.   
  
“No!” Sam screamed. “Please, come back!” His head fell forward and he felt hot tears trickle down his face. “Come back…”


	10. Chapter 10

Those first few times had been bad, but at least Dean could sense Sam and though the pain had been bad, it was easier to bear knowing Sam was there on some level he couldn’t quite understand. Now though there was nothing, an empty vacuum of blackness tar thick and he felt nothing, but the pain. 

It oozed deep into his body, violating and possessing him in such a primal way he begged for blessed death. His body betrayed him at every stroke of the thing that impaled him and the tears were his only way to beg death to take him. The pain was bearable, but the shame wasn’t. He gurgled in the back of his throat body twitching with spasms of pain and pleasure all in the same ragged breath.

Do not deny whom you were born to be.

Beneath his skin the voice dug, splinter of glass working its way into his brain, causing his body to jerk. His jaw ached as the thing expanded as if it breathed for him.

You are but a demon of lust and anger.

Dean tried to push the voice from his my mind, but he was so tired, and every breath he took shredded his lungs sending pain through his chest. His vision blurred as he felt the thing ooze from his pores and his fingers weakly clutched at the air, clawing at the nothingness that surrounded him.

You were born to be with us.

***

Bronwen ran faster than she’d ran before in her life, cold air burning her lungs, and the muscles in her legs demanding she stop. She couldn’t stop though, Sam needed Mair, and she knew he needed her as well. A thought came to her that after tonight she would be irrevocably changed and her mother’s death would finally mean something. As she crested the ridge, she saw Mair and Baxter’s lanterns bobbing at the border wall of the cemetery. She started screaming.

“Mair!” her heart felt as if it were ripping out of her chest as she stumbled across rocky ground and finally fell to her knees panting.

Suddenly Mair was there, kneeling at her side, lantern raised high, and silvery eyes glowing with a power that spoke to Bronwen. “What is it child? Where is Samuel?”

“Something is holding him back.” She gasped out between exhausted breaths.

“Is that so?” Mair quirked one brow and rose to her feet, offering Bronwen a hand. “Come on then, we’ll be seeing about that.” She turned heading back down the rough path to where Bronwen had left Sam. “What are you waiting for child?”

Bronwen glanced at Baxter who stood like a sentry at the cemetery gate. “Go. I’ll wait here. I got me a feelin’ I don’t need to see this—I’ll be fine.”

Turning back, she jogged after Mair into the darkness.

***

Sam knelt chest heaving with each desperate breath he took. He was beginning to think he’d imagined the little girl with her wide haunted eyes and soft voice, but her scream still echoed in his skull. He lifted his arm scrubbing at the tears on his face. She’d known his name—the name only Dean and his father called him. It had always aggravated him, yet he would have sold his soul to hear Dean call him that again.

Would you now, boy?

He jerked his head up and stared into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

I think you know Samuel.

He struggled to his feet searching the darkness. Brushing his hair from his face, he took a deep breath. “John Ingley.” his voice filled with anger.

Yes, once I was.

“You bastard!” he screamed. “You took my brother! Show yourself!”

A hollow laugh drifted from the shadows and Sam could sense the spirits that flitted through the trees cry out softly, formless shapes drawing back, trying to seek shelter from the heavy and suffocating evil on the cold night air.

“I said show yourself you son of a bitch!” Sam turned in a tight circle, hand reaching for the sawed off shotgun in his pack, fingers tightening around the butt as he slid it out. “Or are you a fucking coward?” The laughter seemed to echo from all around him as he spun on his heel, the gun aimed into the shadows.

Do you really think that a gun can hurt me?

“Maybe not, but I can sure and the hell can try.” he growled. “So why don’t you stop playing games and just show your disgusting face? We know what you did! We know you killed your son! You murdered your own son you bastard!”

Deep laughter turned to an animal growl and Sam spun to see a huge black dog behind him pacing the shadows. Its eyes shimmered with green fire, mouth open and drooling, and filled with razor sharp teeth. Fuck, Sam thought, a Barghest.

“Is that the best you can do? You don’t scare me!”

Perhaps you should be scared…boy…

Suddenly the dog was in the air, leaping at Sam’s throat, and his finger tightened on the trigger, a blast of rock salt slamming into the beast’s body. It screamed a very human scream, but the salt did nothing to stop it. Sam was knocked off his feet and the gun flew from his grip as his fingers tightened around the thing’s thickly muscled neck, trying to push its snapping jaws as far away as he could. The muscles in his arms strained against its strength, but it was a losing battle. Ingley’s laughter echoed in Sam’s ears as the beast sank its teeth deep into the flesh of his shoulder and he screamed as he fought to free himself.

His hands slipped from around the beast’s neck and Sam imagined he was about to die, throat torn out by the thing’s gnashing teeth. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and pushed harder until he thought bones would shatter.

“Arawen, I beseech thee come to your child’s aid!”

Sam heard Mair’s voice, but he couldn’t turn from the beast above him for even a second. A second would be all it took and he’d be bleeding out on the frozen ground. Before he could comprehend what Mair had spoken, there was a growl and a blur of white leaping over his head as his fingers slipped from the beast’s throat. He clenched his eyes tight as he waited for the killing tear of razor sharp teeth. Instead, there was the sound of fighting, something had attacked the beast, and Sam pushed up on one elbow.

A huge white hound with red ears had the beast pinned to the ground by the nape of its neck shaking it like a rag doll. Its teeth were stained scarlet with the beast’s blood and the sounds of whining and growling filled the silent woods. Sam watched in horror as the white dog ripped the black one’s throat out, and then threw back its head, muzzle black with blood in the moonlight and howled.

“Sam, are you all right?” 

He glanced away from the dogs and met Bronwen’s wide eyes. “What the hell was that?”

Glancing back, he saw the huge white dog, trot closer eyes sparkling in the dim light with something much like human intelligence. Mair walked up to the dog and knelt down whispering something in Welsh Sam didn’t understand, then lifted her hand stroking its gore spattered fur with a faint smile and a nod of her head. If Sam hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn the dog smiled and then turned away, gripping the other dog’s corpse with its teeth and trotted off into the darkness.

“You’re hurt.”

He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs and then met Bronwen’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, apparently Mr. Hell Hound was hungry…” he hissed as she peeled back the blood soaked coat from his shoulder, “Now could someone tell me what fucking happened. I’m not in the mood for a game of avoid Sam’s questions.”

Mair cleared her throat as she knelt down next to Sam with an annoyed expression. “Did no one ever tell you boy not to be daring spirits to show their faces. It’s a miracle that you’ve lived this long.” She dropped the small bag she was carrying and pulled a bottle out popping the cap. “Take a drink of this.”

He quirked a brow at the bottle and took it, sniffing its contents. “Smells like spearmint and raspberries.”

“Oh, so the nose works, but not your brain child? What a relief.” Mair snorted. “It’s a special brew to help with the healing—my own recipe.” She pulled a blade out of her bag and handed it to Bronwen. “Cut that shirt open, we need to take care of that bite.”

Sam shook his head. “We don’t have time for this.”

Another snort escaped Mair as she glared at Sam. “You get up off that ground boy and I will kick your ass myself. As to your earlier question, I called on Arawen and by her good graces, you’re still breathin’. I’ve done right by the old gods and goddesses and they return the favor in kind.”

“Arawen?” he hissed as Bronwen pulled back the tacky material of his tee shirt. 

Mair nodded as she pulled another bottle from her bag and flipped open the cap. “Aye, she is one of the gods of the Otherworld and she sent one of the Cwnannwn, her hounds. This place is filled with magic Samuel and here it is far easier to speak with the forgotten ones. Now drink that down and we’ll get you patched up.”

“This just keeps getting better and better.” Sam snorted in disbelief as he drank Mair’s concoction down. It wasn’t half-bad, he thought, reminded him of that raspberry tea that Jess had always drank.

“Bite down on this.” Mair waved a thick piece of leather beneath Sam’s nose.

He frowned, taking the leather and gave her a strange look. “Why do I need to bite this?”

“Because it’s either that you bite or your tongue off; not that I’m seeing a problem with that particular result. Fool child...I can’t believe you’re a hunter. Now bite the damned thing cause if you thought the beast’s bite hurt this is going to be like visitin’ the pits of Hell.” She lifted the open bottle and waggled it, “Blessed water to scour the taint from the wound.”

Dean had told Sam once there were certain wounds that required holy water mainly ones left by certain demons, but he’d never had the pleasure of needing that particular bit of information. He slipped the leather between his lips and glanced at the Mair with wide eyes.

“Demonic familiar’s always carry poison in their bite.” She answered his unspoken question, and then turned to Bronwen. “Get him down and hold his good shoulder. No matter what happens, don’t you let him up—do you understand me, Wen?”

Without hesitation, Bronwen stripped off her jacket, rolled it up and urged Sam back using it to cushion his head. “Do you trust me Sam?” She whispered.

He nodded and clenched his teeth, taste of leather coating his tongue and mingling with the raspberry and spearmint. Bronwen smiled eyes shimmering as she pinned his shoulder down with her knee. She turned and nodded at Mair who up ended the bottle of water over the ragged teeth marks in his other shoulder.

For a moment, he felt nothing and then it was as if someone had pressed a flaming torch to his flesh. He screamed, back arching, and tendons standing out in his neck as he bit into the leather, tears of pain overflowing down his cheeks. He felt like his entire arm was on fire and he thrashed against Bronwen and Mair’s pinning weight. As the water worked its way deeper into the wounds, it began to foam and bubble like hydrogen peroxide. He fought even harder, sweat breaking out across his brow and upper lip, the muscles in his jaw twitching with the need to bite harder.

“Hush now, Samuel. Just a bit more and it’ll be fine.” Mair’s voice filled with compassion as she poured more of the blessed water over the bloody foam covering his shoulder. “I’m truly sorry to cause you pain, but it’s necessary.”

He writhed and whimpered almost dislodging Bronwen, teeth digging even deeper into the leather as the wound continued to froth. As sudden as the pain began, it eased and his body relaxed as Bronwen brushed sweaty hair from his face. Her fingers traced his cheek as his eyes opened and focused on her terrified face.

“It’s over, Samuel.” Mair sighed. “Let the boy up, Wen.”

Pulling back, she helped Sam sit up as he spit the leather out into his lap, tears still trickling down his face. “Shit that fucking hurt.” Sam took a deep breath. “Remind me not to let that happen again.”

Reaching out Mair patted his back as Bronwen kissed the top of his head. “You did good son. Now let’s get this wrapped and we’ll get on our way.”

***

He believes he can save you.

Dean whimpered deep in his throat as the hissing voice pierced the fog of pain that had settled over him. For a moment, he wondered who was trying to save him and then it came to him—Sam. He grunted and fought the oily tentacles that had wrapped him in their dark embrace. He tried to speak around the thickness in his throat, but it was useless.

I see the fear in your eyes my beautiful whore.

He grunted again straining against his bondage.

Do you wish to speak?

Suddenly the tentacle lodged in his throat rippled and pulled out. He gulped in deep breathes of fresh air coughing as he tried to rid his mouth of the bitter gall taste of the thing that had been raping his mouth.

“…alone…leave him…alone…” he grated out through his raw throat.

You still believe you can sway my intentions.

The dark figure before him pulsed with energy as the words rasped across his skin like sandpaper. Dean blinked back tears. “Not…Sammy…”

Oh, but he was the whole point.

Laughter, rough and insane, echoed through the cavern as the figure drifted closer, long claw like fingers digging into Dean’s aching jaw. A choking sound vibrated through his chest as the sharp tips dug into his cheek, drawing blood. It hurt like hell, but it hurt even worse to scream. His throat was so raw he could taste blood at the back of his tongue, coppery and thick.

I have to say that your brother is quite resourceful, taking up arms with that whore of a Guardian and her protégé.

Dean blinked again swallowing the coppery tang back and tried to speak, face a mask of pain. “…why…” he whimpered. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was smiling at him and he shivered as the tentacles slithered around him.

Why…is inconsequential…my masters wish to possess you and your brother. I imagine it is because you have been a thorn in their side for some time. I imagine they wish to punish your father for his interference in what he does not truly understand…

“Dad?” he croaked out, confusion and terror in his red-rimmed eyes.

Oh, yes…Dean…he seeks to destroy what he cannot. We are eternal…since the dawn of man we have existed in your darkest thoughts and your deepest dreams. We inspire the darkness in man…the hatred…the cruelty…we are legion…

Panting Dean clenched his eyes tight and tried to feel Sam, but there was nothing, and his fear tripled. What if the reason I can’t feel Sam is because he’s hurt or dead. No, don’t think like that Dean he told himself. He’s alive—Sammy’s alive. He has to be alive there was no other option.

***

“I’d ask you what the hell all that howling was back there, but to be honest I doubt I’d want to know the truth.” Baxter eyed the bedraggled trio, noting the fresh gauze bandage that covered Sam’s shoulder. “You alright, son?” 

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled, but his eyes remained worried, “nothing a rabies vaccine can’t fix.”

Baxter eyed Bronwen and Mair, but both women remained silent. “Well, then I suppose we should be figuring out where you need to try out this fool notion of yours, Samuel.”

Sam swallowed hard as he trudged after the sheriff, trying not to wince at the throb in his shoulder as he dug into his backpack. Pulling out the book, he’d found the answer in he flipped it open. “It says that to make contact with a specific entity the ritual has to be performed on the exact spot of death.”

“Death?” Baxter frowned. “I thought you believed your brother was alive, son.”

“He is…but…” he bit his lip shaking his head, “Dean was taken into whatever is hidden here, a place between…a thin place. Sometimes spells and rituals can be altered to the situation.”

Baxter’s eyes narrowed, gaze shifting to Mair. “Is what he’s saying true, Mair? Cause to be honest I’m getting a bad feeling and the last thing I need to do is try and explain myself to the county commission when something goes wrong. They’ll get their damn panties in a bunch and next thing you know they’ll have be locked up in the county loony bin.”

“Aye…” Mair answered, “magic has its rules, but it is always fluid.”

“What about this concoction the boy is supposed to drink? I know for a fact deadly nightshade is just that—deadly. I don’t need him committing suicide right in front of me.” Baxter grunted as they stepped through the cemetery gate. “That would leave a lot more explaining to do than I have the desire to deal with.”

Bronwen sighed. “Look sheriff…it’s deadly if too much is ingested, but in the hands of someone capable it becomes a hallucinogen. It’ll slow his heart rate and breathing down to the point where he’ll appear dead, but that’s all. He needs to be close to death to travel through an active door.”

“Alright then,” Baxter dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I get the gist of it. What I don’t get is why we’re here in this godforsaken place.”

“Because this is where Dean vanished.” Sam stopped, Baxter nearly walking into him.

Bronwen frowned. “What is it?”

She watched Sam inhale harsh, nostrils flaring as he tried to suppress something that filled his eyes with anger and pain. He swallowed hard, stepped around her and moved to the back of the cemetery like a sleepwalker, gaze locked on a gravestone at the rear of the crumbled wall. Eyes narrowing she followed him and then saw what he’d seen. 

Atop the gravestone, cold moonlight reflected off a lone object. She was a few steps behind him when he collapsed to his knees one trembling hand lifted as if to pick up the object in question, but he hesitated throat convulsing. She stopped in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at Mair and Baxter who stood shoulder to shoulder watching as well. Turning back, she covered the last few feet and knelt next to Sam.

“What is it, Sam? What’s wrong?” She glanced at the gravestone and frowned at the object that had mesmerized him.

“He’s fucking with me.” He whispered long fingers curling around the dark leather cord and lifted the object. “Dean would never…God he would never take this…” he choked back a sound close to a sob.

Her eyes focused on the object dangling from his fingers as it swayed, catching the moonlight. A bronze charm of some kind, perhaps a protection charm, but she didn’t recognize it. She was jerked from her thoughts as Sam got to his feet and slipped the knotted cord over his head and around his neck. He glanced down at her and the look in his eyes terrified her—murderous rage. When he spoke his voice was sharp, cold as ice, and Bronwen felt herself shiver.

“Let’s do this. I’m going to destroy that son of a bitch—once and for all.”


	11. Chapter 11

The fact Sam seemed not the least bit nervous about this entire thing scared the hell out of Bronwen. Every since he’d found his brother’s necklace lying that on the damn tombstone it was like he’d changed, not physically, but rather his mental state. There was a cold harshness to his eyes where before there’d only been warmth and a hint of sadness, and his jaw muscles were tight enough it appeared as if he was grinding his teeth constantly.

She glanced up from where she’d placed the final candle encircling the area around the gravestone and focused on Sam who sat cross-legged staring at the cold grey of the stone. His stare so intense she got the distinct impression he might be trying to commune with the damn thing. Either that or he was trying to commune with the bones six feet beneath the ground. 

“Sam?”

He grunted, but his gaze didn’t leave the stone in question.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

He turned his head and met her eyes head on. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s the only way I’m going to find him, Wen.”

With a nod, she stood brushing the seat of her jeans off and stepped into the circle of unlit candles. "We will find him, Sam…I swear.”

“I know.” His voice softened chin dropping to his chest. “This is my fault.”

She sat down next to him. “And how do you figure that?”

“I could have pushed harder when his stubborn ass wouldn’t leave.” He poked at a dry, curled leaf with one finger, watching as it crumbled. “Dean’s always been the stubborn one…the strong one…” he mused.

“What do you suppose makes him strong, Sam?” She brushed the hair from his eyes as he glanced up. “Honestly, Sam, don’t you see it?”

“What?” tongue darting out, he licked his lips in a nervous gesture as she cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the shadowy stubble.

“You are his strength, Sam. You always have been from the moment he carried you out of the flames in Lawrence. His need to protect you drives him to be stronger than even he ever imagined.” Bronwen offered a sad knowing smile. “Just as I imagine he is your strength as well. You should know that after Burkittsville.”

Sam blinked confusion clear in the depths of his hazel eyes. “How did you know about Lawrence—and Burkittsville? I never told you about those places.”

“You should know by now that I’m dealing with some crap changes, too.” her laughter was brittle and dry as the leaves beneath their feet. “Guardians and hunters are both psychic, guardians normally more so. Our gifts Sam are not much different, but yours are far more powerful than any hunter’s before you, even your brother is touched to some extent.”

“You can say that again.” 

Sam cracked a smile and Bronwen’s heart melted a bit more. She slapped his arm playfully. “Now see that is what you need to cling to, Sam. Keep that sense of humor and love for your brother when you walk through the door. It will help you bring him home.”

“Are you two ready?”

They both looked up to see Mair standing outside the circle, arms folded, but a twinkle of humor in her pale eyes. Next to her perched on one of the gravestones was the owl that had been with Bronwen earlier, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight as it cooed soft, feathers ruffling.

“Gwenhwyfar,” Bronwen whispered.

The owl cocked her head and let out a sound that caused Sam’s skin to crawl. Wings spread she glided into the circle landing gently on the gravestone. Her head spun in the odd way only owls could do and she trilled; large glittering eyes focused on Sam as if she were trying to impart some type of knowledge upon him.

“She is one of two familiars.” Mair spoke her eyes locked on Bronwen. “Your second shall come to you when you are in need of it. Now shall we begin?”

Nodding Bronwen sat down, legs folded in a lotus position, then guided Sam down, so his head rested in the cradle of her thighs. He stretched out along the length of the grave and exhaled. Turning his head, his gaze drifted to where Baxter stood, back stiff like a sentry at the gate of the cemetery, one of Sam’s shotguns at ready in the cradle of his arms, and his service revolver at his hip. Baxter reminded him of his father, the father he’d been so furious with a little over a week ago, but now he understood a bit more. His father was a soldier, he always had been, and he knew nothing else, just as Dean was a soldier.

He let his eyes drift shut as Mair and Bronwen’s voices began the chant until their voices seemed to become one, and there was a power far deeper in their words than Sam had ever thought possible.

“We call to thee, Janus Lord of Doors…”

Mair shoved a heavy birch wand into the earth at Sam’s feet.

“We ask your guidance on this night of power, this night when all thresholds are open to those who seek them out. Janus who sees through and back…back and through…guide this hunter to his prey…”

As Mair began pacing the circle lighting each candle, Bronwen brushed Sam’s hair from his eyes, and he glanced up to see her lips move.

“We ask you take his hand and guide it true.”

Bronwen reached out pressing a small vial in Sam’s hand, his fingers curling around it.

“Let him taste the bitter sweetness of death whilst he walks among the living.”

Bringing the vial to his lips Sam’s eyes drifted shut as he swallowed the contents of the vial, letting the tasteless liquid coat his throat. He could almost immediately feel it take effect, his breathing easing and slowing.

“Janus, touch him and guide his lips as he does speak the words to open forth the flaming door. Guide his soul as only you can in his moment of need.”

Mair’s voice faded leaving only Bronwen’s and it was akin to the sweetest song Sam had ever heard as his heart slowed.

“I call to thee, Janus, hear this hunter’s words and guide him close to the Otherworld from whence we came and we shall all return. Repeat these words hunter and fear not the touch of Janus.”

Sam’s eyes drifted open. He blinked the world seemed to swim as if viewed through a fishbowl—distorted and liquid. He felt rather than saw Mair kneel next to him, his lips moving in tandem with Bronwen’s words as Mair opened his shirt baring his chest to the frigid night air. Her fingers were warm and soft as she began to paint symbols on his chest each symbol representing a line he spoke.

“I am a stone hidden under the earth…”

Her fingers moved in circles, soothing and calming.

“I am the purple depths of the sea…”

Soft swirls like waves caressing his skin.

“I am a blue crested wave under the moon…”

Harsh strokes as those same waves came crashing down.

“I am an ancient emerald forest…”

Feathery brushes against his skin, leaves dancing in the wind.

“I am a yellow tear of the sun…”

Warmth, pricked along his chilled skin like tiny daggers.

“I am an orange pumpkin in the field…”

The scent of earthy fruit filled his nose and the edges of his vision began to flicker, tiny licking flames against dried kindling.

“I am a flaming door…”

Above his heart, heat spread out and Sam’s back arched off the cold ground as the heat filled and consumed him, then he was burning bright like a super nova. 

***

When Sam opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness so thick it was palatable along his taste buds and filled his nose with a musty, damp smell, one that reminded him of dank fruit cellars and abandoned houses.

Blinking he tried to get his bearings, but it seemed nigh impossible. The only thing he was sure of was the floor beneath his feet and even then, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. Careful he started to walk, heel, toe, heel, and toe, deeper into the darkness. He strained his ears to catch any sign of sound no matter the cause, but there was only silence to greet him and it was mind numbing. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose wondering if maybe Bronwen had been right. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

When he’d begun to think there was nothing to be found in this place, he heard the sound. It was so faint at first he wasn’t even sure he’d actually heard it. Speeding his steps up he moved toward the sound and as he drew closer, he identified it as a child crying. At least that’s what he hoped it was.

“Hello?” he called out, voice not quite as steady as he’d hoped. He cleared his throat and called out again. “Hello? Who’s there?”

A tiny voice crept through the darkness to his ears. 

“Please…don’t hurt me. I promise to be good.”

He kept walking and searched the darkness as he spoke again, softer this time. “I won’t hurt you. Where are you?”

There was a shuffling noise and then soft sniffling. “You’re not the bad man?” 

“No, I’m not.” he continued searching the darkness and then he saw movement. 

His body tensed ready for anything. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was a trap, but that thought stuck in his throat, when the child appeared out of the darkness. It was a little boy no more than maybe five or six with shaggy dark blonde hair. He was dressed in dark blue pajamas and little face pale and streaked with tears. One small fist was scrubbing at his eyes as he chewed at his lower lip and stared up at Sam with wide mossy green eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered, kneeling down closer to the little boy’s level. “It’s okay…don’t be scared.”

Wide eyes looked up at Sam and the boy sniffled. “I’m not scared of you.”

Sam smiled. “That’s good. What’s your name?”

The boy crept closer a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My daddy says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. He says you never know if their monsters or not.”

“Well,” Sam mused, “your dad is right. So how about I tell you my name?” The boy nodded slow, sniffling, and Sam let his smile widen a bit more. “My name is Sam and now you know who I am so I’m not a stranger.”

“Really…your name is Sam?” The corner of his pouting lips twitched in a half smile. 

“Yeah, it is.”

“I have a little brother and his name is Sammy.” 

Sam’s gut clenched. “You have a little brother named Sammy?”

“Uh…huh…” he nodded at Sam. “He’s two years old and Daddy says I have to protect him from the bad things, but I got lost.”

Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes as he stared at the little boy in front of him. This place he was a thin place and he knew things didn’t always make sense. But this was too much. He cleared his throat and sat down hard, long legs collapsing beneath him.

“Are you okay, mister?” 

He looked up to see the boy squatted in front of him, studying him with an all too familiar frown and his heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay. So what’s your name?” He tried to smile, but it was so damn hard, because he knew what the answer would be.

A wide smile lit up the little boy’s face and his eyes shone bright. “My name’s Dean.”

***

“Sammy…” Dean moaned in the back of his throat, eyes flickering beneath bruised lids. 

He’s pissing me off.

Dean groaned again, eyes fluttering open, and chest heaving with each breath as his shock clouded gaze focused on the thing before him. He let out a choked laugh and tugged weakly at the slithering darkness pinning him to the wall. “He’s coming…he’s not as weak as you thought.”

Furious green eyes focused on Dean bruised face and suddenly the oily thick tentacles tightened around his body. His mouth contorted in a scream and tears welled in his eyes.

He’s mine…and nothing you say can change that…boy…

Panting Dean’s head fell forward. “Fuck you,” he rasped, “Sammy’s coming and when he finds you…it’s over…”

No, when he finds me it will just begin…

Dean screamed again as the thing inside him expanded and pushed deeper. 

***

“Dean.”

Looking up from where he sat in front of Sam, the boy frowned, “Yeah?”

“You said you were lost.” Sam chewed his lower lip. “Do you know where you’re at?”

His lip pushed out and eyes went wide. “It’s dark and cold…there’s water…”

Sam swallowed hard as he remembered Jess’ words to him. She’d been right. There was a well, but he had no idea where to look or even where to begin. His gaze shifted back to the child-version of his brother as he took a calming breath. “Dean, is there anything else? I can’t help you unless I know where to look. I want to bring you home…” he paused throat tightening, “I need to bring you home to your brother.”

Sniffling Dean’s eyes widened. “You’d take me home to Sammy and Daddy?”

“Yeah, I will. I promise you, but you have to help me.” He hated the desperation in his voice, but seeing this innocent version of his brother was ripping his heart out. Dean had always been the strong one and now he had to be the strong one. 

“There’s a hole.”

He glanced up at Dean, “A hole?”

“Yeah, in the ceiling…” Dean pushed his lip out, brows knitting together in concentration. “It’s way up high.” He lifted one pudgy hand and pointed up. “See, Sam?”

Lifting his head Sam’s eyes widened. There in the darkness was a perfectly round opening faint light drifting down to illuminate the spot where the two of them sat. The edges of the hole seemed to be made of rough stone bricks and it was about the size of a hubcap. 

“Shit…” Sam whispered as he lifted himself to his feet. 

A tiny fist smacked him in the thigh and he glanced down to see Dean standing there, arms folded over his chest, and forehead furrowed. “That’s a dirty word, if I said that Daddy would wash my mouth out with soap.”

Sam started laughing and reached down swooping Dean up into his arms. “Yeah, he would!” He hugged Dean tight and scrubbed his fist over the top of his head as Dean squirmed.

“Let me go butt munch!” Dean hollered.

“Never big bro’!” he crowed with laughter.

***

“Is he going to be okay?” Bronwen sighed as she threaded her fingers through Sam’s hair. “I’m scared to death he won’t come back.”

“He’s a strong young man, Bronwen. His gifts are far more powerful than he can even imagine.” Standing outside the circle, Mair glanced up at the moon, bright light sparkling through the tangle of twisted tree branches. Her eyes drifted shut as she let her mind drift outward and a smile curled her lips. “He’s made contact with his brother.” She cocked her head, smile fading, “That poor child.” 

Bronwen’s eyes widened. “Sam?”

“No.” Mair shook her head. “The brother…he’s been shattered. Pieces of his mind scattered. Sam has made contact with a sliver of him…a small child, but he has the answer.”

Suddenly, Sam sat up gasping for air, eyes wide. “Dean?” He turned looking around his breathing easing. “Dean.” It was a whisper this time, eyes glittering with tears as he stood heading out of the cemetery.

Scrambling to her feet Bronwen gave Mair a quick glance and then headed after Sam while Mair retrieved Baxter. She was having a hard time keeping up with him, his long strides eating up the ground like a hungry beast. 

“Sam!” She yelled as she scrambled across the frozen ground. “Where are you…?”

“Shh…” Sam hissed as he paused looking left and then right, eyebrows pulled together. After a few seconds, he turned right and began walking again.

Bronwen bit her lip trying not to ask any questions though she was worried. He seemed to be looking for something and he was hell bent on finding it. She glanced up just in time to see Sam vanish into the ground and she gasped, picking up speed. “Sam!”

Reaching the spot, she realized he hadn’t vanished. It was a foundation from one of the homes and Sam had jumped the edge dropping down into the gaping hole, he was mumbling to himself, fingers moving over the stones.

She slipped over the edge and dropped to her feet. “What is it?”

“It’s here.” His voice was taunt, raspy. “It’s here, but I can’t find it.”

“What’s here?” She tried to catch his eye, but he was still searching. “Sam, what are you looking for?”

“The entrance.”

“To what?”

Sam suddenly straightened and turned, wide grin on his face. “There’s a cavern here and the well is off the cavern…that’s where Dean is.” He turned back and began pulling rocks away as Bronwen stared at him in shock.

“You’re kidding—right?”

She stopped when Sam faced her again and she saw the gaping black hole. He wasn’t kidding it was there. 

“Oh my God…it’s really there. How did you know?”

Sam answered, voice laced with sadness, as he continued to rip stones from the foundations. “Dean told me.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sam tore at the rock foundation as a man possessed, pitch black hole widening as each stone fell to the leaf strew ground, scent of long dead rotted things filling his nose, but there was no way he was stopping. At his side, Bronwen grunted with effort tugging chunks of rock from the thick clotted earth as well. She lifted one muddy hand and swiped at the perspiration along her brow despite the spring chill, leaving a smear of rich black earth along her skin. Their hands were torn and bleeding, Sam’s worse, yet they continued to work the only sound in the foundation area their soft grunts and their breathing.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Glancing up from her desperate work, Bronwen met Mair’s steady gaze, “A cavern.”  
  
Baxter dropped into the open foundation, frost crisp leaves crackling beneath his boots as he hit the ground, and turned to catch the duffel Mair dropped to him from her perch at the edge of the opening. “That explains why you asked me to bring the climbing equipment.” He grunted as he dropped the bag and reached up, big hands encircling Mair’s slender waist to pull her down.  
  
Mair knelt, digging through her own backpack and pulled out a large waterproof camping lantern. “I knew a cavern was here, but the damn thing didn’t show up on the USGS maps for some reason.”  
  


“Magic,” Sam mumbled dropping another stone to glance over his shoulder, face streaked with mud. “This thin place exists like you said Mair, but there’s something else about this land.” He drew himself to his feet, pushing Bronwen back with one arm as he kicked at the remainder of the rock wall, rocks and earth falling away in a cloud of rotted vegetation. Coughing he stepped back taking the lantern from Mair. “It’s like a vortex or a catch all for spirits…sucks them in and traps them.”  
  


“How do you know that, son?” Baxter’s eyebrow lifted as he unclipped the flashlight from his belt and followed Sam to the gaping hole.  
  
Flipping the lantern on Sam knelt down pushing it into the blackness and watching as the darkness swallowed its bluish-silver glow. “Because I can feel them…every last one of them,” he whispered chill rippling over his skin.  
  
***  
  
It had taken the better part of an hour for them to get saddled up and Sam was busy pacing with impatience. He paused long enough to look over at Bronwen who was tugging her hair up into a high ponytail as Baxter finished strapping her safety harness on. “Look maybe you should…”  
  
She turned expression in her eyes telling him she wouldn’t hear it. “You’re going to need me down there and I feel as responsible for your brother.”  
  


“Why?”  
  
She snorted pulling on her leather gloves. “I should have did everything in my power to discourage you guys from coming down here in the first place and second…” she paused sucking in a deep breath, “this is my job. I’ve been called to take Mair’s place and no amount of arguing will change that.”   
  
One leather covered hand lifting to rub at his aching temple Sam conceded. “Fine, but I can’t protect you.”  
  


“You don’t have, too.” Whispering faintly in Welsh she smiled. “Gwarchodlu y annwn uides dod at fy a arwain fy cwbl.”  
  
A gasp exploded from Sam’s lips as he watched what appeared to be will-o-the-wisps wink into existence above Bronwen’s open palm. He swallowed hard and glanced back at Baxter and Mair before his gaze flicked back to Bronwen.  
  
“Are you coming?” She lifted one eyebrow as she blew hair from her eyes, the flickering wisps of multi-colored lights darting through the opening.  
  
Sam turned again glancing at Mair as he shifted the other pack over his shoulder. “I just need to know one thing.”  
  
Her eyes shone with something not quite human as her lips curled in a smile. “Whether you return or not Samuel depends.”  
  


“On what?” his voice tightened with fear and an underlying rage.  
  
“On whether your brother believes or not.”  
  


Her words held doubt, but Sam knew Dean, she didn’t. “We’ll be back,” he turned ducking into the low hanging opening, darkness swallowing him.   
  
***  
  
He could feel himself slipping away and he couldn’t understand why Sam wasn’t here yet. Maybe Sam had decided he wasn’t worth the effort. No, the voice inside him whispered, he’d never give up on you just as you won’t give up on him.   
  
Swallowing a sob, he was forced back to reality by the thing twisting inside him. It pulled back, slammed inward, ripping him open, and caused his breath to catch in his throat. “Please…please…” he stuttered through cracked and drying lips.  
  
 _Please…_  
  
The thing’s voice slid over him, thick slimy snail trail against his battered body and then laughter followed. It pricked his skin as he was pulled from the rough wall at his back and flipped around, face slamming into the jagged stone. He could hear a sharp crack as his nose broke and blood poured down and over his lips and chin. The rock dug into his skin, scrapping his face raw, and he choked back a scream as the thing inside him began brutal ramming in and out of his abused ass again.  
  
 _Have you decided to beg me for release?_  
  
“Fuck…you…” Dean choked out through bloody lips. “I won’t beg…Sammy is coming.”   
  
_Is he?_  
  
For a moment, doubt drifted through his pain-fogged brain and then he dug his fingers into the cold stone he was pinned too. “Yes…” he hissed tongue darting out to lick blood from his lips, “Do…whatever to me…”  
  
 _Oh, I plan on it Dean…_  
  
What had once been James Ingley began to shift and twist the faint cries of the souls trapped inside his writhing form tickling Dean’s ears. Slender tentacles began to reach out swirling and growing, lashing the musty air. Dean clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on Sam. He knew Sam was coming, he’d felt him like a tall drink of sweet iced tea that quenched the raw thirst inside him. Focus, the tiny voice inside him whispered. Focus on Sam and only Sam.  
  
Behind him the thing began to laugh, sound sliding beneath Dean’s skin, sliver of fear piercing what remained of his sanity. Suddenly there was a sharp snap and a whoosh of air, and then Dean was screaming; his back set aflame in an agonizing blanket of pain. His throat tightened at the sound of air being sliced again and he steeled himself as best as he could, and refused to give the bastard any further pleasure.  
  
 _You’re right…he’s coming…_  
  
Dean bit his lip as another wave of unbearable pain washed over him. _Hurry, Sammy_ , he thought, _don’t know how much longer I can last._  
  
***  
  
The cavern was small, enough so Sam had to hunch as he followed Bronwen down into the darkness. They’d been walking for fifteen minutes when suddenly Sam’s back felt as if someone had touched his bare skin with an open flame. Sucking in a ragged breath, he fell to his knees and called out to Bronwen.  
  
“Stop…shit stop…”  
  
Bronwen headed back. “What is it?”  
  


“Dean,” he gasped as the fire spread across his back, “we’re close, Wen. We’re so fucking close I can taste it.”

 

Bronwen’s face swam into focus, will-o-wisps winking and fluttering around her head like an angel’s halo. “Can you feel him?” She whispered kneeling close, breath warm against his cheek.  
  
Sam clenched his teeth until he thought they might shatter from the force, the fire in his back flaring again. “Bastard is,” he panted eyes squeezed shut, “he’s hurting him again. Back feels like it’s on fire. God what if…”  
  
“Hush, Sam.” She shifted, hand lifting to stroke his back as he fought to breathe. That’s when she felt it her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach, wet stickiness seeping through the flannel shirt he was wearing, “Sweet Goddess.”  
  
Sam’s eyes drifted open, pupils dilated in pain. “What is it, Wen?”   
  
Bronwen lifted her hand into the glare of the lantern she was carrying. Her palm was coated in blood and his eyes widened not in fear for himself, but for Dean. He swallowed hard eyes closing in an attempt to banish the image of her blood-slicked hand. The last time he’d manifested physical signs had been when Dean was raped and the idea this thing was hurting his brother more than it’d already done caused bile to rise in Sam’s throat and scald his tongue.  
  
“Maybe we should…”  
  
“No,” he whispered, “I have to find him.”  
  


“Then we’ll go. Can you stand?”  
  
He dragged himself to his feet, pain evident in the lines around his eyes and mouth. “I’m bringing him home.” He turned to face the darkness. “Do you hear me you fucking bastard?” He screamed. “You can’t have my brother! I won’t allow it!”  
  
The sound of eerie laughter echoed off the cavern walls as they began working their way down through the cavern once more.  
  
***  
  
Dean was losing the battle he’d been fighting for what seemed an eternity. He was only human after all and his body had been ravaged by this dark thing until he wanted to cry with the need for release, release from his mortal shell. If he could only escape, the pain would cease and maybe he’d find what he’d been searching for all these years.  
  
The darkness had retreated although some part of it remained, coiled around his broken body, pinning him to the wall. He could feel the stickiness of drying blood on his skin everywhere, face, back and between his trembling thighs. He doubted a human could live after this much blood loss and yet here he was in pain and still breathing.  
  
 _Dean_  
  
His name was a breath of air against his ear, a single, sad word. He shifted against the stone turning his head even though it hurt like a son of bitch to do so and what he saw tore the breath from his lungs and tears that had settled permanently along the surface of his eyes began to fall. Tugging at the slithering blackness that pinned his wrists he felt his sinuses, already clogged with blood, clog further as his mouth twisted in a grimace, a hiccup swelling in his chest.  
  
She was beautiful, he thought, so beautiful it caused his eyes to burn as she had.  
  
“Mom…” he croaked.  
  
When he’d seen her in Lawrence, he’d been stunned into silence. When Missouri told he and Sam she’d sacrificed herself a final time for the children she loved he hadn’t cried until he was alone in the shower. A part of his brain tried to make sense of the vision before him. Had Missouri lied to them or was he hallucinating?  
  
Mary Winchester stood there looking at her son, hair a halo of golden fire and her simple white nightgown swirling around her in a wind he couldn’t feel. She seemed to glow from the inside out with the flames that had consumed her body all those years ago, very much as they’d consumed her in Lawrence a few short months ago. Her expression was one of love Dean barely recalled and more often than not, it was in his dreams. Standing next to her was the little girl who had rescued him from the deep waters when the dark spirits there had tried to seduce him with the same imagine now before him.  
  
  
 _Dean_ _, my baby boy_  
  


As she stepped closer Dean wanted to believe, but as her fingers brushed against his bare skin, he flinched. “No…no…” he mumbled, “just an illusion.” He coughed violently trying to inhale through his broken nose.  
  
Her fingers were like fire as she grazed them along his jaw, eyes filled with so much love and anger; anger at the thing that had done this to her child, the thing that had left a part of itself behind to torture him further. Slowly her fingers traced down his throat, along his shoulder, and then back up to where the oily tentacle pinned his wrists to the wall.  
  
 _Leave him…_  
  
Two simple words, but they held such fury.  
  
 _Leave my son now…_  
  
Dean’s one good eye widened as the thing began to writhe in what appeared to be pain and he saw the fire flicker along her slender fingers. He flinched again, bile flooding his mouth as the fear of being consumed by the fire rose inside him.  
  
 _You leave my son alone you bastard…_  
  
Her voice rose in a roar of fury the fire swelling and engulfing Dean’s body with a sound he would never forget. He tried to scream, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t and after the initial shock, he realized he wasn’t burning. The fire burned where the darkness encircled his wrists, ankles, and his back, he could feel heat like a match flaring and he could hear the thing scream. Where it touched his naked abused flesh, it left a trail of soothing warmth that seeped into his frozen and aching muscles.  
  
 _Let him go…_  
  
The thing shrieked in agony and Dean could only think of an animal in pain. When he’d been younger, when they’d been in one of those moments where money was tight, Dad had taking him hunting. They’d set snares in the woods of Colorado and when they’d went to retrieve the snares they’d collected the rabbits that had been caught. All of them had been dead with the exception of one. Dean recalled the sound the dying rabbit had made and it sickened him. Dad had ended the animal’s life with a quick twist of his wrist, but not before the sound had imbedded in his young brain. It was a howl really, a haunting howl that had him on the verge of vomiting, but then he'd been a child now he was a man. He was a man who had been tortured and raped by this sickening creature and he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn if it suffered.  
  
Slowly the thing began to disintegrate into oily ash as Mary’s fire consumed it and the son she’d left behind over twenty years ago. The howl vibrated through the cavern, dislodging lose rocks sending them careening into the dark waters of the well, the spirits beneath the surface going into a frenzy, their shrieks joining in and then it stopped. One moment Dean’s ears had been filled with the agonizing chorus and then nothing, simply blessed silence. He felt his body slide down along the wall and he whimpered as it did, but he didn’t have enough strength to halt himself. His legs and arms were like gelatin as he felt himself falling and he waited for the darkness to close in around him.   
  
This was it, he thought, his mother had come for him and all Sammy would find was a broken lifeless body. Of course, a part of him was annoyed there had been no bright light, but at least his mother was there.  
  
 _Open your eyes, Dean…_  
  
Her voice soothed him as his eyes flickered open and he found himself cradled in his mother’s arms, her fingers stroking his bruised and bloodied face. He tried to smile, but it hurt even to do that. “Mom…” he whimpered as her fingers slid through his blood- stiffened hair.  
  
  
 _Hush…it’s not time for you to come to me yet…_  
  
Her smile was warm and welcoming and all Dean wanted was to fall into her and never come out. Why couldn’t it be his time? Why couldn’t he leave this place and be with his mother once more? He was so tired and all he wanted to do was rest.  
  
 _Your brother is coming…_  
  
His eyes opened again and he moaned. “Sammy…”  
  
 _Yes, baby…he needs you and you need him…sleep now…_  
  
Eyes drifting shut Dean slipped into darkness, his mother’s gentle caress his last memory.  
  
***  
  
They’d reached the end of the tunnel and Bronwen perched on the ledge swinging the lantern out, trying to see anything in the darkness beyond its glow. The will-o-wisps danced out over the ledge and descended downward into the darkness, glowing brighter with each foot of depth. Around fifty feet they paused and skimmed outward into what appeared to be a search pattern. Their light reflected back from the dark water below as they whizzed across the surface, ethereal dragonflies with no wings.  
  
“Water.” she shifted the pack off her shoulder. “This must be the main cavern.”  
  
Sam knelt next to her watching the will-o-wisps skim the surface of the water, mirror of black obsidian and groaned in pain. This was going to be difficult, he could feel Dean so close, could feel his pain and it was killing him. He had to focus, push the pain away, but it was so damn hard. His back burned with the physical manifestation of his brother’s suffering. He cursed the thing that had snatched Dean away and then the pain was gone, literally vanished in the span of a breath.  
  
“Dean?” Sam gasped.  
  
Bronwen turned lantern’s light playing across Sam’s anguished face, shadows and pale skin, slick with perspiration despite the chill of the cavern. “What is it? What’s happened?” She questioned at the sickly expression in Sam’s eyes.  
  
“I can’t feel him.” He choked out between dry lips. “He was there and then he wasn’t.” He shoved his pack off his shoulder while he rattled on, yanking equipment out of his bag. “We have to get down there.”  
  


“Sam, he’s not…” she started only to be cut off by Sam’s intense gaze.  
  
“We have to go through the water.” Sam growled low in his throat. “He was here, but now he’s not.” He grabbed a hook and began hammering it into the ground. “It isn’t going to be easy though. There are…”  
  
“Spirits in the water.” she finished. “They’re the ones James has consumed over the centuries.” She grimaced as if she’d tasted something nasty. “I can feel them, too.”   
  
Once the hooks were in place they busied themselves with threading the rope through and attaching it to the safety harnesses they wore. Sam braced himself against the floor of the tunnel and glanced at her through his shaggy bangs with a grin.   
  
“Have you ever done any rock climbing?”  
  


“No, but there’s a first for everything.” and then she swung out into the darkness.  
  
Bronwen was an amazing woman to say the very least and to be honest she scared him a bit. Shaking his head Sam, ignored the ache in his damaged shoulder as he followed her over the ledge and into the darkness far below.  
  
***  
  


Above ground Mair paced, skin itching with worry, and not a little spirit energy. Baxter’s hand rested light on her shoulder and she sighed. “Robert…” his name was a whisper on her lips, “my time is near sweet man.”  
  


“Don’t be saying such things, Mair.”  
  
She turned cupping his face in one rough hand and for a moment, Robert Baxter could have sworn he saw the face of his sixteen-year-old sweetheart. Her lips curled into a sad smile. “We all must go eventually my love. We’ve both known this day was comin’ and now the hour is far closer than I would have wished. Bronwen has been chosen to take my place by the powers above.”  
  
Fear shone in Robert’s eyes as he looked at the woman he’d loved his entire life. Theirs may not have been the relationship he would have chosen for himself, but a man couldn’t pick and chose those they loved. He swallowed the pain filling his throat. And with a quick nod, he pulled her into his arms.  
  
“You do know that I…”  
  
“Yes…I do.” She rested her head against his broad chest, listening to the beat of his heart, and in some way, it brought comfort to her. “I always have Robert. We may not have had what we wanted in youth, but…” she choked up for a moment and then she heard his words whispered in her silver hair.  
  
“It was enough, Mair.”  
  
***  
  
Water so black it blended with the stony earth around it starred up at him, but just beneath the surface, there was an electric hum. Sam stood at the edge listening to what could be described as a whisper, but it wasn’t a single voice it was hundreds of voices calling from those dark depths. Beneath it though there was something else, something far older and darker than Sam had ever known.  
  
“What is it, Sam?”  
  
He turned and glanced at Bronwen as she stripped down to the wet suit she’d worn beneath her clothes, sleek material clinging to her body like a second layer of skin. He turned back to the water. “You knew didn’t you?”  
  
Moving to his side, she glanced down into the water and exhaled. “I don’t know how I knew, but yes…the water I knew about. We’ll have to go through there. This is the spring that feeds the well and I imagine it’s the source of the…”  
  
“No.”  
  
She turned to Sam with frown. “What do you mean no?”  
  


“I wasn’t talking about the water.” His head lifted eyes focusing from the water to Bronwen. “You knew you were the one that would be called to take the place of Mair as the guardian.”  
  


“Yes, I’ve known for a long time.”  
  


“Then why deny it?”  
  


She sighed, “Why do you fight your destiny, Sam? Why do any of us?”  
  


“I don’t know why.”  
  


“Yes, you do.” she laughed. “You’re afraid. You’ve always been afraid and not of the things in the dark.”  
  


“Then of what?” Sam snorted.  
  
“Afraid you would have to watch him die.”  
  
***  
  
The water was glacial cold as if it winter and Sam knew he’d be suffering from a mild case of hypothermia when all was said and done. His long limbs knifed through the darkness with a grace that belied his size as he followed Bronwen’s lead. She seemed to know where she was going and he didn’t question it, which was a first for him. They hadn’t spoken since she’d told him exactly what he feared most.

He could feel his lungs starting to burn with the need for oxygen as they swam through what appeared to be the mouth of another cavern beam of his flashlight cutting a swathe through the darkness as he gripped it tighter. The sound of the spirits deep beneath them in the shadows caused his skin to crawl. The charm bag though, still hanging around his neck, seemed to do exactly what Bronwen had told him it would do—it kept the spirits away.  
  
As he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head to see the little girl from the woods earlier, hair a spider web of blackness dancing around her face as she met his gaze. Her dark eyes took on a bizarre shimmer in the beam of his flashlight as she smiled.   
  
_He’s close…_  
  
Her voice echoed in his head.  
  
Shifting his body, he saw Bronwen ahead of him, floating in the water as she waited for him at the edge of an opening. The water was lighter now and he knew this was where Dean was trapped, that thought alone propelled him forward. Soon he was next to Bronwen and she nodded, glancing back over her shoulder. Sam turned and saw the little girl floating in the darkness behind them, tiny smile on her a round cherub face.  
  
 _Up…_  
  
Sam felt rather than heard the directive and he kicked out heading for the surface, Bronwen by his side as he sent out a simple thought to the ethereal child.  
  
 _Thank you._  
  
Seconds later, he broke free from the water’s grasp sucking in deep breaths of ice-cold air.  
  
***

 

 _Soon baby…_  
  
Dean whimpered in the back of his throat, eyes opening to the darkness, and he took a ragged breath. He’d thought it was a dream, but he was no longer pinned to the wall and the pain though still present had eased. Arms shaking he pushed himself up on the cold rocky ground and bit back a scream as he tried to set up. Collapsing once more the cavern spun around him as he fought to catch his breath.  
  
Somewhere in the darkness, he heard water splashing and began dragging himself across the ground not feeling anything as the jagged rocks tore his already abused skin further. He could hear voices a woman and a man—Sam. Tears streaked his face as he clawed at the ground forcing his body to obey him although it screamed in agony.  
  
“Sammy…” he groaned, vision blurring.  
  
For all he knew the thing was back and this was another form of torture, a way to make him squirm and beg for something he couldn’t have. He’d always thought of himself as the protector, but now he was the one who needed to be protected. Despite all their faults and arguments, he knew Sam wouldn’t turn away. That was if Sam were still alive.  
  
His fingernails tore as he sucked in another ragged breath and dragged himself a few more feet. The voices were getting louder and he knew without doubt, it was Sam’s voice.  
  
“Sam…” he gasped as the darkness descended around.  
  
***  
  
Sam froze for a moment and waved Bronwen to silence. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on any sound around them.   
  
Water dripped and the faint echo of it bounced off the cavern’s walls.  
  
Something sliding--  
  
“Shit,” Sam’s eyes flew open, searching the darkness, beam of his flashlight dancing along the rough walls. “I can’t pinpoint it.”  
  
Bronwen’s ears strained, listening to the eerie silence, and tried to pick out what had caught Sam’s attention. Whispering a few words beneath her breath, she was surrounded once more by the glowing will-o-wisps and she nodded at them. With faint whizzing noises, they darted out into the shadows, skimming across the water and the towering walls of the cavern. Sam’s frustrated gaze focused on her.

 

“I told them to go seek.”  
  


“He’s here.” Sam replied. “I know it.”  
  


“If he’s here the guards will find him.” She started trudging along the ledge pushing her dripping hair from her face.   
  
What she hadn’t told Sam was what the tiny winking lights were. They were guards of the underworld so they could sense and locate the dead and dying. She prayed to the gods she wouldn’t have to tell him either.


	13. Chapter 13

Echoes—that was all he could hear.

Taking a deep breath Sam tracked after Bronwen and for the first time in a long time, he found himself praying. When Jess died, he’d stopped, anger overcoming what little faith he’d managed to cling to, but this was his brother. This was Dean.

His entire life Dean had been so much more than a brother. He’d been mother, father, protector, and brother to him since the night in Lawrence when everything had changed. He silently cursed his brother for being the stubborn white knight. He was no longer the little boy who cried when he fell and skinned his knees or begged for the last bowl of Lucky Charms with big eyes. He was a man and he’d known lose and fear as Dean had even if he never admitted it.

Sam scrubbed at his eyes refusing to shed tears for things he couldn’t change. What had happened to Dean had happened and no amount of wishful thinking could change it, but he wasn’t going to give up. He refused to believe he was gone. Just because he couldn’t feel him now didn’t mean a damn thing. Dean did not die. It was fucking simple. Dean was the hero not him and god damn it heroes didn’t die—not like this.

"Sam."

He glanced up right before he ran right into Bronwen. "What is it, Wen?"

"Listen." her eyes drifted shut. "Can you hear it?"

Closing his eyes, Sam pushed away everything and focused on the silence. It wasn’t silent though, he could hear something. Something so faint he wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then he realized it was an echo, skimming across the water and off the well’s towering walls.

"Dean." he pushed past Bronwen, searching the darkness. "Where the hell is he?"

He forced back the urge to vomit as the will-o-wisps came sparking out of the darkness with a high-pitched whine. They tumbled through the air and buzzed around Bronwen as she cocked her head listening to something only she could hear. Their light began to brighten and explode in a kaleidoscope of colors, almost as if sunlight refracted through a crystal.

“What the hell is going on?" Sam was ready to scream with fear and no small amount of annoyance. He was used to the tools of his trade, the ones he knew and trusted, not these things of magic.

The will-o-wisps shot back out into the cavern all of them but one, disappearing into the darkness. The remaining one flitted around Bronwen as she started walking once more and Sam was reminded of Tinkerbell. A hysterical laugh escaped his throat as the memory of seeing Peter Pan for the first time filled his mind.

***

_"Are fairies real?" snuffling Sam curled up beneath the blanket, blinking wide watery eyes._

_Dean_ _raised an eyebrow at his eight-year-old brother and scratched idly at the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. "That’s a silly question, dude."_

_Sam’s lower lip pushed out in pout that could melt anyone’s heart, even his big brother’s if truth be told. He sneezed violently and Dean reached over on the bedside table grabbing the powder blue box of tissues and tossed it into Sam’s lap. He sneezed again and a harsh cough exploded from him before he was able to pull a tissue from the box._

_"Did you take your cough medicine, Sammy?" Frowning Dean glanced up from where he was cleaning his pistol, sitting cross-legged on the other twin bed._

_The pout became more pronounced as Sam pushed further beneath the blankets. "Did you answer my question, butt head?"_

_Rolling his eyes, Dean glanced over at the small black and white television on the roll away cart. "Of course they are, Sammy." He shook his head and grinned. "Don’t you remember the siren Dad took out in California?"_

_Sam_ _’s body jerked violently as he sneezed again. "A siren isn’t really a fairy shit for brains."_

_"Sam!" Dean snapped. "You know how Dad feels about that kind of language."_

_"Yeah, whatever," Sam sniffled._

_Dean’s face softened as he sat his beloved pistol aside and stood crossing the small gap between their beds and flopped down next to Sam. "Okay, Sammy…yeah fairies are real, but they’re not like Tinkerbell. You shouldn’t watch all this Disney crap it melts your brain." He chuckled as Sam curled up next to him, theme of the Wonderful World of Disney drifting from the television as the commercial break ended, "Fairy is a word to describe a whole lot of nastiness lil’ bro’."_

_"Aren’t there any nice fairies?" his next cough vibrated against Dean’s chest._

_"Yeah, I suppose there are. It’s just you can’t trust fairies…they’re sneaky little bastards."_

_"Is there such a thing as fairy dust that can make you fly?" Sam peered up from beneath his fever soaked curls, "Cause that would be cool."_

_Dean_ _grinned. "Yeah, that would be cool."_

***

Dean coughed violently and lifted his head, struggling to set up, but it hurt so damn bad. Can’t give up, he chanted inside his head. When he was upright, he slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged and head spinning. He closed his eyes and tried to ease up again, but his legs refused to cooperate. A harsh cough exploded from his lungs again as he opened his eyes or at least the one he could. That was when he saw it and if he’d had the energy, he more than likely would have leapt back and away.

A huge cloud of tiny lights darted toward him, making tiny whizzing noises, and of all things, he thought of Tinkerbell, Peter Pan’s constant companion. One of the lights zoomed up and hovered in front of him as if it was studying him and he let out a cough causing the light to bounce backwards.

"What are you?" He grated out.

Lifting a trembling hand he reached out as his vision began to blur again. To his surprise, the tiny light swept forward settling on his fingers and a gentle vibration traveled down his arm. It was warm to the touch and a sweet floral scent surrounded him. Dean’s lips twitched and he nodded weakly.

"Will-o-wisp…I get it." He sucked in a deep breath. "Ain’t gonna make it am I?"

Death was a given in his world, he just wished he could’ve told Sam good-bye. "I’m sorry…" tears began to trail down his face, "should have never come here. Should have listened when you told me we needed to leave." His hand dropped to the ground as he closed his eyes and waited for the reaper to come claim him.

***

Mair lifted her head from Baxter’s chest her eyes shining with an unnatural light. "Robert."

"What is…?" He never finished the question he didn’t need to finish.

Around them columns of dark mist were twisting in the cool night air and voices began to whisper on the rising wind. He pulled Mair close, hand drifting down to slip his revolver from its holster. He wasn’t sure what was happening, he wasn’t even sure if the damn gun would do any good, but he felt better having it in his hand.

"The battle is about to begin." Mair whispered. "Goddess, watch over them."

***

Bronwen’s silence caused the short hairs along the base of Sam’s skull to prickle. She seemed to have slipped into a trance of some sort and the longer the silence lasted the stronger Sam’s jitters became. He wasn’t used to this silence, one that gnawed down to the quick of his bones. He couldn’t take it any longer so he stepped around grabbing her arm and squeezed.

"Damn it, Bronwen, what the hell is going on?"

She turned toward him and he stumbled back at the sight of her eyes. They were glowing in the dim light of the cavern—an eerie silver-green.

"Hush, Samuel." her tone frightened the hell out of him. "The battle is coming."

"What battle?" his eyes widened as he circled her. It was obvious something else was speaking to him through Bronwen. Though what it was he couldn’t say.

Smiling her gaze followed as he paced around her like a predator. "Ingley is an abomination. He seeks to destroy everything light. It is why he snatched your brother. Why he has tortured and raped him, because as you Dean is a force of light to be reckoned with though he may not understand that yet."

"Who are you?" Sam stepped closer, drawn to those mesmerizing eyes.

"I am who some would call Arawen…I am the guardian and goddess of the dead."

Tears welled in his eyes. "No," it came out a choked whisper, "not my brother." He backed away shaking his head. "Not like this…not alone…in this place…"

Lifting one hand, she stepped forward, and stilled his denial with her gentle touch. "Fear not, Samuel. Your brother will be restored to you, but you must face the most ancient of dark deities to save him."

As tears trailed down his face, Sam looked into her eyes. "I will find him and then I promise you whatever is out there I will destroy it."

"Yes, I do believe you will."

***

"She has chosen her champion."

Baxter glanced down at Mair as she pulled from his embrace and moved toward the gaping hole in the foundation. Lowering her body, she folded her legs beneath her as Baxter watched with one eye, the other focused on the columns of mist still rising from the earth and now creeping along the frozen ground. The whispering increased in volume along with the wind and soon the voices rose to a howl that rivaled a coming tornado.

Shoving the revolver back into its holster he knelt next to Mair. "What the hell is going on?" His words caught on the wind and disappeared into the night sky.

"One torch is being passed and another is being lit."

***

He’d taken one moment to process the look in her eyes and then Sam turned and began moving, moving faster than he’d ever moved. Long strides eating up rock-strewn earth he followed the ledge encircling the water, flashlight’s beam piercing the darkness. He’d went about thirty or forty yards when the beam of light hit what appeared to be a wall, a dead end, but on further inspection he realized it was a jagged chunk of stone about eight feet in height.

Stepping closer he tried to figure out how to get around it. "I don’t have time for…"

He stopped mid-sentence throat closing on any further words he had the audacity to speak. For a second there was a blur then his eyes focused on what the flashlight’s beam has drawn out of the darkness—a human hand. It wasn’t the hand though that had him praying to be anywhere, but here, it was what sparked in the beam of light—the ring. He’d never asked Dean about the ring although he’d had the urge to on a number of occasions. He understood the charm that never left Dean’s neck, though for now, it was resting in his pocket, but the ring had been a mystery for the past six months. Sam fell to his knees reaching toward the pale hand and searching for some sign. He clawed his way along the tiny space between rock and water on all fours. By all rights, the weight of his body should’ve caused the rock to crumble beneath him, but it didn’t. How he managed to get across it without falling into the water was a miracle. When he did manage, his gut twisted in a knot as he prayed for another.

Dean was lying slumped on the ledge, arm stretched out as if he were reaching for the water. His body was covered with bruises, bites, abrasions, and there was so much blood. One side of his face was swollen distorting the features Sam had loved for as long as he could remember. Tears welled in his eyes as he dropped the backpack and pulled Dean into his arms. With shaking hands, he tilted his brother’s head and pressed two fingers to this throat searching for a pulse.

"No." he whispered, "not like this." sobs vibrated down his spine as he pulled Dean’s limp body into his arms, face burrowing into the blood matted dark blonde of his hair. "No."

_Sammy_

 As Sam lifted his head, the color in his face drained away in shock eyes settling on something he thought he’d never see. Dean was standing over him, not a bruise, nor a drop of blood on him. The only problem was Sam could see through him. "Dean…" a soft hiccup escaped his trembling lips as his attention shifted from his brother’s battered body and then back to the misty phantom before him.

"Oh, God…this can’t be happening."

_Sam_ _, don’t_

Dean’s vibrant eyes shone in the dim light.

_This isn’t your fault Sam. Don’t blame yourself…_

He shook his head as he tightened his arms around Dean’s lifeless body. "I should have…I could have…" his vision blurred with tears, "what am I suppose to do?"

_Ain’t dead yet, bitch…_

Tilting his head Dean grinned.

"But…" Sam stuttered out.

_When you going to learn to listen to your big brother?_

"How?"

"Arawen."

Sam turned to see Bronwen standing next to him, eyes aglow in the darkness. "What did…?"

"She walks the line between worlds. The creatures I summoned were her guards, a manifestation of her power. In this place, only the dead have power, and if Dean was to fight at your side he had to be released from his pain."

He glanced down at Dean’s body again swiping at the tears on his face. "She promised me that…"

"And he will be, Sam, but for now…he must walk among the dead." Bronwen knelt, stretching one hand out, fingers pressing against Dean’s bare chest above his heart. She whispered a few soft words beneath her breath brilliant silver light engulfing her hand and then it spread out against Dean’s skin.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded, fear shining in his eyes as he turned his gaze to where Dean’s misty form stood.

_Damn that tickles…_

Suddenly Dean’s spirit, because that’s all he could think to call it, began shimmering with the same silver light and he began to solidify. His mossy eyes widened as he met Sam’s terrified gaze.

_Sammy_ _?_

There was a crackling sound and the scent of ozone filled the air as the light grew until Sam threw an arm up to protect his eyes. It flared and then died away, air still crackling with the aftershocks. For a few seconds Sam sat still and then he slowly lowered his arm. As his vision cleared, his eyes focused on Dean who stood staring down at himself confusion marring his face.

"Dean?" Sam’s voice quavered as he glanced down at the abused body in his arms, chest rising and falling with soft breaths, and then glanced back at the image before him. "Dean?" He asked again as he took in the mirror image of his brother standing there.

Bronwen smiled as she drew her hand back. "He’s been given a temporary reprieve from his pain. Arawen cannot stop death nor can she reverse it, but as long as his physical body breathes he can hold this form." Her gaze shifted to Dean. "You have to believe you aren’t a freak, Dean. When you return to the real world, it will not be easy. Your wounds are deeper than even you might believe, but for now I will watch over your human form until the battle is over."

"What battle?" Dean’s eyes flicked to his broken body.

"The battle those your father hunts wish you to lose."

Shifting Dean’s body into Bronwen’s arms carefully Sam stood and stepped toward his brother. One hand reached out and his fingertips caressed Dean’s cheek, sparks of electricity and warmth leapt between them. "Oh, my God…" Sam whispered, "I can feel you."

Dean smirked at Sam’s shocked expression. Opening his mouth, he started to say something, but before the words could slip out his eyes began to glow with silver light. He turned around and his eyes narrowed. "He’s coming, Sammy." He hissed.

"Who?" he turned toward the darkness Dean was stared into, eyes narrowed.

"The son of a bitch who’s going to pay for doing this to us," Dean growled, silver flames exploding from his fingertips and licking up his forearms. "Come on, Ingley!" Dean screamed. "You want to rumble let’s go! I ain’t alone this time!"

Sam’s head spun as Dean stepped closer to him, his eyes going wide. "What?"

"Do you trust me, Sammy?" Dean’s eyes sparkled.

"It’s Sam…and of course I do." His gaze moved back to the darkness. This time he saw what Dean had seen and it tore the breath from his lungs.

He remembered a Lit class he’d taken his first semester at Stanford. Professor Sands was known as the quirky professor on campus and he had a deep abiding admiration for H. P. Lovecraft’s writing. Sam remembered the images Lovecraft conjured up in his mind and the thing coming out of the darkness was something he had no doubt Lovecraft had seen. Maybe, Sam thought, the writer had been insane because he’d seen what truly lay hidden in the darkness.

Sucking in a deep breath he turned back to Dean. "I trust you with my life."

"I know." Dean reached out with one hand and touched Sam, light flaring in his eyes.

As their bodies touched, there was an explosion of light and hurricane force wind ripped through the cavern. On the wind, the screams of the thing and all the souls it had stolen rose in a painful howl that soared to the cavern roof. Sam’s scream joined theirs as he was consumed in silver fire.

***

Outside the screams of the spirits could be heard for miles.

Baxter clamped his hands over his ears as he stood and pulled Mair to her feet, dragging her across the leaf-strewn ground. Reaching the edge of the foundation, he lifted her up and out, and then followed her, scrambling over the edge in a flurry of dirt and leaves. Dragging himself to his feet, he grabbed Mair and pulled her close as he watched swirls of white and black mist clashing with one another.

"What the hell is happening?" He screamed.

Mair lifted her head from where it rested against Baxter’s chest. "The hunters are together! Look!"

Across the clearing Baxter saw a column of silver fire burst up from the earth and shoot into the night sky, the spirits shrieking that were anywhere near it. "The fucking well!" he yelled and headed toward the light dragging Mair with him.

She dug her heels into the ground bringing his headlong flight across the clearing to a halt. "Robert!"

Turning he met her eyes. "What?"

She reached out stroking his face. "It’s time!"

"No!" He shook his head. "I can’t let this happen!"

"You have no choice, Robert!" She pulled him down, brow pressed to his. "We all have our destinies and this is mine!"

As they stood there staring into one another’s eyes, wind howling around them, Robert Baxter knew sometimes what a person wanted and what a person got were two different things. He swallowed back the bitterness coating the roof of his mouth, and then lifted his head.

"Take care of those boys, Mair." He whispered.

She smiled her hand cupping his weathered jaw. "I will."

"I love you, Mair…always have…always will." Tears welled in Baxter’s eyes as he finally spoke the words he’d refused to speak for over fifty years.

Mair drew him down in a deep, bittersweet kiss, and then pulled back, lips still grazing, "I love you, too. May the Goddess watch over you until we meet once more."

Turning away, she walked calmly into the column of fire and let it consume her.

***

Sam could feel Dean inside him, melding with his thoughts, emotions, and he wanted to cry. He’d never seen the truth before even though it’d been staring him straight in the face.

_I’m scared, Daddy._

_Have to protect Sammy._

Echoes of a long ago night in Lawrence flickered through his mind’s eye.

_Run_ _, Dean_ _!_

_The flickering flames, thick smoke and the bitter fear of a family being destroyed._

Yet, inside the fear, a strength and courage he’d never realized his brother possessed. Sam let that courage run through his veins and he felt Dean’s soul move through his and it was the most intimate experience he’d ever had.

 _Dean_ , he thought _, it’s my turn to save you._

Opening his eyes, he saw the thing for what it was and deep in the darkness, he saw what it’d once been as well. A tall slender man with grey swept hair and a weathered face, sadness and disappointment shining in his emerald eyes.

"Why?"

_Because it is wrong_

Sam moved through the silver fire, eyes shining, as he approached the writhing darkness.

"He was your son."

_He was an abomination…_

"So you destroyed him and all these souls because he hurt you. You stole my brother and you tried to destroy him. For what? To be cursed for all eternity?" Fury burned bright in Sam’s eyes. "It’s over, James. Let them go."

_Never_

Sam reached out with the fire and let it graze Ingley’s darkness. "Family should love one another not destroy each other." Roaring the darkness reared up and swirled around Sam, not quite touching him as if it feared him. "Release the souls you’ve stolen."

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw two figures pull free of the darkness. Ingley roared in anger as they pulled away, drawing closer to Sam’s light. Slowly the figures began to coalesce into two young men, one tall and dark, other small and blonde, they both turned and smiled at him.

"Tristan" Sam gasped, "…Daniel."

_You cannot have them bastard of the light…my masters want them…want them all…_

Sam’s head turned as he heard Dean’s voice in his head.

_You know what you have to do lil’ bro_

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. "Okay, Ingley…" his brow lowered, his eyes narrowing, "…you want them? Come and get them." Sam’s lips curled in a wicked smile.

The darkness engulfed James Ingley once more and its oily tentacles whipped out with a sharp crackle, swirling around Sam and his two companions. Faces twisted and filled with anger began pressing out from the darkness, mouths contorted in screams of anger, and still Sam stood firm.

_Do it Sammy…_

Dean’s voice was as clear as if he’d been standing right next to him. Smile widening Sam stepped forward as the darkness hissed. Somehow, he knew what he had to do and then inside his head a third voice joined in.

_Samuel_ _I am here…_

"Mair?" his eyes widened.

_Yes, focus your thoughts and push forward Samuel…push with all that is yours and your brother’s…_

Staring into the darkness Sam collected all his thoughts, memories, and with it his emotions. His eyes flared with silver fire and his face glowed, image flicking between his own and Dean’s.

_What are you waiting for boy?_

Sam glanced up the fire moving through him and as it did images flashed through his mind, images of all the victims the thing had taken and destroyed over the centuries. Every one of the young men resembled Tristan and Daniel his lover. Their faces filled with the fear and horror of what he’d felt through Dean and then he saw it for the first time. What the thing had done to his brother and anger swelled inside his chest until he felt as if he would explode inside his skin. So much pain, anguish and this thing had used this place to its advantage.

It hadn’t created this place.

This place had existed since the beginning of time. The images exploding against his mind’s eye confirmed that.

_The original guardian was a native girl with dark eyes that sparked with silvery light. Her family had left her here in this dark, haunted wood to commune with the spirits. Never changing, never aging, until the next guardian came---a native warrior with vibrant feathers and beads wove into his hair._

_Native American’s offering sacrifices of grains and fruit to the spirits, their voices rising in song and blessing to the powers of nature. Their dark bodies twisting in time with the rhythmic sound of their drums as flames leapt skyward._

_The same natives trying to explain in their halting English to the men who chose this spot for the village that would be named Bara-Hack what this place was; a thin place, a place between worlds._

And then there was one final image. One that sent Sam tumbling over the edge into an understanding he’d not possessed before.

_The thing sleeping beneath the earth, watching in silence, as years passed. A vivid image of the streets of Abington Four Corners, a beat up Chevy and two little boys with a man—Sam, Dean, and their father. From the open window Sam watched as John spoke in low tones to a tall, slim man with dark hair and vibrant green eyes; a little girl sat on the iron bench outside the building, bare foot, long dark braids, and the same green eyes as the man. Sam met her gaze and he suddenly knew she understood everything that haunted his dreams. She stood and moved to the truck and bounced outside the driver’s side door looking up at Sam._

_"You’re one of us." She blinked, pretty face marred by pain, and eyes too haunted for a child her age. "It came for your mommy, too—the fire."_

_Sam_ _nodded chewing his lip as his hazel eyes grew wide._

_She leaned closer and whispered. "It has a thing here. It watches us and my daddy helps Miss Mair keep it here."_

Jerking from the memories Sam gasped, "You son of a bitch! We were here…when I was a child. You were waiting for us to come back!"

_So you finally get it Samuel Winchester…_

"You are one of …"

_Yes, I am…_

The fire flamed around Sam and he could feel Dean inside urging him on with soft whispers. Next to Sam on either side stood the ethereal forms of Tristan and Daniel, its first victims, and they fed the fire as well. Mair’s voice ghosted through him as well and he knew she was the one who had shown him the past.

Without warning Sam crossed the remaining few feet and stood nose to nose with the thing that had once been human. His hazel eyes now nothing but silver fire. His chest heaved with anger and the need to destroy this thing once and for all.

_You could be with us…you could have power never dreamt of in your existence…_

The oily darkness writhed around Sam, not quite touching, but whispering to him. Trying to seduce him with power and desires fulfilled. Sam smiled and the thing chuckled.

_You could have them back…your mother, Jessica…your normal life…_

Sam’s smile widened even further.

_The life you always dreamt of…we could give you that…no more pain…_

"That so?" he cocked his head, smile never fading.

_Oh, yes…_

Sam raised one eyebrow beneath his shaggy bangs, "No, thanks."

Suddenly the fire swelled around his fists and he thrust them forward, fast and with as much power he could muster. As they punched through the oily darkness, the thing howled furiously. Tentacles writhing and whipping the air it tried to lash back as the fire inside Sam funneled down through his arms and spread out, burning the thing from the inside out.

"I have everything I need!" Sam hissed.

The darkness began to crumple slowly outward, falling apart like a burnt log, sparks of fire, and grey soot ashes. With each inch destroyed another soul escaped and fled upward to vanish. Sam shook with the effort of channeling the energy until, he thought, he might fly apart, yet he still forced the light inward—burning and destroying.

Its screams became louder and more agonized with each passing second. Though the sound was horrifying, inside he smiled as Dean whispered to him, voice growing stronger.

_That’s my boy…_

What remained of the screaming abomination began to glow, white hot, and then it exploded in a shower of sparks and howling souls. Sam felt the warmth of the fire as it surrounded him and as it consumed him once more he knew they needed to be safe—Dean, Bronwen, and himself.

Then everything went black.

***

"Son, can you hear me?"

Sam groaned and tried to open his eyes, but it felt like too much damn effort. The sudden urge to vomit fixed that though. His eyes flew open and he rolled to the side, last thing he’d eaten, making its reappearance on the frozen ground. Large warm hands stroked his back in circles as he coughed and gagged trying to rid himself of the taste in his mouth.

"You okay, Samuel?"

His head lifted, wet, red-rimmed eyes focusing on Robert Baxter’s worried face. "Feel like I’ve been…" suddenly he stopped, eyes going wide with worry, "Dean…" he coughed.

Baxter smiled best he could and nodded a few feet away. "Bronwen’s taking care of him until the ambulance arrives, son. Don’t know what you did down there, but the entire county is on alert."

Turning, Sam’s watery gaze settled on a spot a few feet away where Bronwen knelt, Dean’s head cradled in her lap and his body wrapped in a rough woolen blanket. He watched as Bronwen stroked his brother’s hair and he could see his chest rising with each breath he took. A sigh of relief escaped him as he let Baxter help him set up and wrap another blanket around him, tears streaking his face as he offered Baxter a thankful, but weak smile.

As the distant sound of sirens filled the night air Bronwen lifted her head and turned toward Sam, a smile lifting her lips. Her dark tangled hair drifted around her flushed face in the faint breeze and Sam saw a wide swath of silver in her dark locks. He’s going to be okay, she mouthed.

Thank you, Sam mouthed back, before she turned away to focus on Dean once more.

***

The soft whirring and beeping was the first thing Dean noticed as he slowly drifted back to the world of the living. His whole body ached, but he recognized the fact something flowed through his veins to ease the pain. He forced his eyes open and the brightness was almost too much.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Sam’s voice reached out urging him to stay.

Blinking away the grit in his eyes, he saw Sam’s face, brow crinkled in worry. He coughed and swallowed, licking his cracked lips. "Sammy?"

A brilliant smile lit up Sam’s face. "It’s Sam." There was no annoyance in his correction simply relief.

"Yeah, whatever…" Dean coughed again. "Thirsty."

Sam withdrew and returned with a cup of ice chips. "Here," he pressed a few chips to Dean’s lips causing him to grunt. "Doctor says if you can handle these then you can have water."

He nodded lips parting, and accepted the cold chips. As he sucked on them, silence descended around them a few minutes passing as Sam continued feeding him ice chips. Beyond the door, Dean could hear muffled voices and across the room, fading sunlight seeped between the blind slats. He swallowed and shook his head when Sam offered more.

"How long?" he rasped as his eyes drifted shut.

Sam cleared his throat, sound of him shifting in his chair drifting to his ears. "A week…since…" Sam’s voice cracked as Dean turned his head, eyes drifting open again.

Focusing was difficult because of the drugs, but he managed to bring Sam into focus. He blinked and for the first time noticed Sam’s left arm was resting in a sling. "You’re hurt." He whispered.

Sam glanced up and smiled though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Nothing really…" he mumbled, "just a Barghest with a nasty bite."

A soft snort escaped Dean as he quirked a brow at Sam, "Barghest? Mind explaining that one?"

Before Sam could reply the room’s door opened and Bronwen stepped in with a vase of wildflowers in her hands, Baxter following her, "You’re awake, Dean."

He frowned for a moment and then it came to him, "Bronwen—right?"

She sat the flowers on the table at the foot of the bed. "Yes, you remembered."

"Always remember the hot ones." Dean offered her a small smile.

Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean didn’t miss the worried expression he flashed toward Bronwen.

"See I told you he was a pig." Sam chuckled.

"Can Robert and I speak to Dean alone, Sam?" She smiled as Sam unfolded himself from the chair.

"Sure…I’ll go get a soda." He gave Dean a quick smile and then slipped from the room.

Dean’s gaze drifted from the door back to Baxter in his uniform and then settled on Bronwen. "So you here to arrest me?" he coughed again as Bronwen raised a brow.

"What do you remember, Dean? About what happened?" She focused on Dean bruised face. "And don’t lie…because I’ll know."

Dean frowned. "Just bits and pieces really."

She settled in the chair Sam had abandoned and reached out taking Dean’s hand in hers, careful not to disturb the IV line in the top of his hand. "It’s gone…" she whispered, "destroyed. You have nothing to fear any longer, Dean."

He tried to turn away, but Bronwen’s cool fingers cupped his jaw, forcing him to keep eye contact. "I’m not scared…" he mumbled beneath his breath.

Frowning Bronwen shook her head. "I told you no lying to me, Dean. You need to talk to Sam…work things out. He sacrificed a great deal to bring you home…" she smiled, the frown disappearing, "he deserves you to be honest with him."

Dean focused on Bronwen’s sharp gaze and sighed. "I can’t be weak."

"There’s nothing wrong with drawing strength from those you love, Dean. Sam loves you so much, but he has just as hard time showing it as do you." Her fingers stroked his stubble-coated cheek. "You went through a great deal down there and soon it’ll come back to you. Let him help you get through this." She stood with a worried smile and glanced at Baxter who’d stood by in silence. "Both of you are heroes and you have done more for our home than either of us can ever thank you for. Now be each other’s heroes."

Baxter tilted his head in acknowledgment, eyes meeting Dean’s gaze. In their depths Dean saw grief and loss and Dean reminded himself to ask Sam about the silent sheriff when he returned. With a final nod, Bronwen left the room, Baxter following. A few minutes later Sam returned a bottle of Coke in hand, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

"Everything okay?" Sam questioned.

Dean noted the redness and puffiness around Sam’s eyes and he knew getting a soda wasn’t all that Sam had been doing. He put on his best smile and nodded, "Yeah."

Settling into the chair next to Dean’s bed Sam sighed, voice soft. "I was worried."

"I know." Dean thought about Bronwen’s words, but he couldn’t bring himself to make Sam suffer anymore than he’d already done. He exhaled, eyes drifting shut again, afraid of what Sam might see in them, "Thanks, lil’ bro’."

There was a moment of silence and then Sam replied. "You’re welcome."

As his gaze moved over Dean, he swallowed hard. He knew how Dean could be about showing anything close to resembling true emotion, but he sent out a silent prayer this time it would be different. He brought the soda to his lips, took a deep drink and settled in for the night as Dean’s breathing evened out into sleep.

In a few days, the doctor was going to release Dean and they’d be back on the road. He prayed with every ounce of his being things would work out for the best. They both had a long road ahead of them. A road that could—if Dean gave it a chance—bring them closer together than they’d been since before he’d left for college.

"Good night, Dean." He whispered and then let his own eyes drift shut, hoping the nightmares wouldn’t come this time for once.

~Finis~

**Author's Note:**

> The lost settlement of Bara-Hack does exist as do Pomfret, Abington Four Corners, and Mashomoquet Brook. They are all located in northeastern Connecticut. Bara-Hack is listed in The Ghostly Register written by Arthur Meyers and published by Contemporary Books. Bara-Hack was settled by Welsh immigrants around 1780 and was abandoned around 1890. My apologies to the people of Abington Four Corners since I’ve never been there I’ve taken some creative license.
> 
> The information on the cannwyll gorff (pronounced kannull gorf if I understood the rules of Welsh right) also known as corpse candles was taken from the fictional novel Candle Night by Phil Rickman published by Jove Horror. They are a Welsh myth or folk tale, depending on who you speak with as my OC Bronwen Ingley tells Sam and Dean. They usually appear over the grave of a loved one shortly before a person dies and travel sometimes from the grave to the home of the soon to be deceased. They appear as a cold, blue, flickering flame.
> 
> In Chapter 6 I took some creative license again…*hides under desk*
> 
> The words Bronwen speaks are a Welsh grave epitaph found on a 6th century tombstone said to be Merlyn’s grave on Newais Mountain (Newhill, near Carmarthen Town). The epitaph has been recited for centuries to summon the shade of Merlyn for counsel. I twisted it just a bit so she is summoning Merlyn not for counsel, but rather for protection.
> 
> It translates as ‘The grave of the nun’s son on Newais Mountain: Lord of Battle, Llew Embrais, Chief Magician, Myrddin Emrys.
> 
> This is the phonetic version as taken from ‘The 21 Lessons of Merlyn: A Study in Druid Magic & Lore’ written by Douglas Monroe and published by Llewellyn Publications.
> 
> BETH AHN Ahp T-Lay’in, eem-NEW-ais FEEN-ith
> 
> T-loo-AH-gor T-loo EEM-rais
> 
> Preeve DEW-in MEER-thin EHM-rihs
> 
> In Chapter 7 the investigation of Bara-Hack Sam talks about and the dates he gives are true. It is one of the most detailed and professional investigations to date on the haunted village of Bara-Hack. Harry A. Chase was a real person and he did take photographs of the village where a number of anomalies including streaks of blue light appeared in 1948. Chase was a 68-year-old recluse at the time of the investigation. A number of photos were taken of the area by the investigative team as well many of them showing the same phenomenon along with faces, blobs, and even the image of what appeared to be a baby lounging in an elm tree.
> 
> Mair’s story of the native’s term for places like Bara-Hack as ‘a thin place’ is an actually term that Native American’s use. They use it to describe a place where the barrier between worlds is so thin we may hear and see things from that other world. Whether that world is the spirit world or whether it is an alternate universe science cannot say.


End file.
